


Consequences

by Milotzi



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blame the series for all the dysfunction, Blasphemy, Dealing with what happens in season 2, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fictional Religion & Theology, Implied/Referenced Incest, It's CAOS so of course there is blasphemy, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Murder-Suicide, Siblings, Sisters, Spoilers, Suicide, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-01-16 13:57:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 57,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18522937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milotzi/pseuds/Milotzi
Summary: As the High Priestess of the Church of Lilith, Zelda Spellman is not protected from dealing with the consequences of the actions taken by herself and others.Spellwood set approximately a quarter of a century after CAOS 2.





	1. Zelda

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies to any shippers of this glamorous sexy power couple who love seeing them at their best. I ship that version, too. This is just my way of working through and trying to make sense of what happens to their relationship in part 2.
> 
> Also, unbeta'd.

A thin line of smoke rises to the ceiling of her office, as the High Priestess ponders how she will conduct these dark baptisms. What wording will be fitting, what paraphernalia will be appropriate, who should be there to welcome these two lost souls back into the coven and witness their joining the covenant? Every detail matters. While Zelda is happy to do as she pleases when she pleases, and will defy anything or anyone that threatens her family, she is also High Priestess, a devout follower of the principles of the Dark, and a firm believer in the importance of the formal, ritual aspects of their Church. The books of ancient lore and witch law, profane theology and comparative anthropology that surround her will help, as will her memory, even though the persons to be baptized are at least ten years older than would be normal. She has decided not to seek spiritual counseling on this issue. 

Despite being the first female to hold her position, she remains a traditionalist at heart. The Dark Lord may have vanished, Lilith may now reign in the Dark Realm and theological teachings may have proved to be obsolete but that does not mean the profane rites and unholy rituals of the Night Church should all be abandoned. Tweaked, adapted to new circumstances, or to use the word she so disliked when forced on the Church by her brother's and her husband's quite different efforts to leave a mark on history, _reformed_. Some might see the Church of Lilith as revolutionary. It isn't. Zelda is, most of all, pragmatic, always has been, always will be. Now these decisions have fallen to her, she strikes a fine balance between the new and the old, between that which must by necessity or her inclination (no High Priestesses, hah) be changed and that which brings solace through familiarity. 

Also, Zelda has never been one to put all her eggs in one basket and she has lived long enough to know how quickly her family's and her church’s fortunes may change. Should the Dark Lord ever return, she has ensured that both her life and her priesthood can be perceived as honouring Him, at least by a male ego that expects adoration. Having been an anti-pope's wife for a while has taught her a thing or two in this respect. It has also taught her that she prefers to be truthful, a terrible handicap. Thank Satan, she also believes in showing good breeding and keeping up appearances when appropriate. This has allowed her to concentrate on finding the right form for worship when the issue of what exactly is being worshipped is best kept vague. 

Each birth is still recorded in the Church of Night registry, which contains the names of all members born to the coven since the first Spellman, Blackwood and Jackson ancestors arrived in Greendale. True, she has had it rebound and added a beautiful painting of Lilith wearing the crown of hell and a verse or two but other than that it is still the same old tome, in which all who go through with the dark baptism have pledged their fealty with their names signed in blood, where marriages are recorded as are the deaths. A gloved finger strokes over those who were lost due to the hubris of the warlock she married. She opens the page on which he entered the name and date of birth of his son and, later, added his daughter's. Yes, there is room enough for both of them to sign their names in blood. Jack and Jill. 

Jill and Jack. Her nightchildren. Sweet Leticia, who was renamed twice, and Judas, returned to the Church that for a brief while was known to some under his name. Lost by their father when they were little, adopted by mortals, they had taken a DNA test in their mid- twenties and found a half-sister, Dr Prudence Blackwood, specialist in medieval medicine at Harvard and witch. Who should have known better than to hand over any biological material to a science lab to have tested for DNA. As glad as she is that the twins have been found and are eager to return to the fold, she nearly shoved Prudence's face in when she began to understand how that kind of test works. Prudence still hasn't learnt that actions have consequences. To leave that kind of information in the hand of mortals when your father is someone who was called a voracious slut in your presence is reckless. At least Ambrose and his partner made clear that none of the children they have with Prudence were to be tested, so at least there is no Spellman DNA on record. This only partially reassures her since currently all purebred Spellman descendants of a younger generation than hers are part Blackwood. 

She lights another cigarette, inhales deeply and revisits earlier entries in the Greendale records, her ancestors’, her parents’, her siblings’, and Sabrina's. As so often she is tempted to drop ashes onto the page and burn a hole where Faustus's spiky signature is, next to hers in the record of their marriage but resists. If the rites of the night have any meaning this marriage is a contract she entered out of her own free will, and one as binding as that with the Dark Lord in her baptism. Whatever exact meaning that baptismal promise still has, what with the Queen of Hell never bothering to reveal any details of theology. Since none of the surviving coven have aged or crumbled to dust, and the gates of hell have devoured human souls but remained firmly shut otherwise, Zelda knows there still is a contract in place. Whether with the current ruler of hell or the Dark Lord in his imprisoned state or a general principle matters less than that she and every witch and warlock who has entered the unholy covenant is bound to lead a life according to its general tenets.

Zelda doubts that Lilith takes an interest in this, or in anything but her own pleasure these days. Part of Zelda wishes she could do the same. Or at least that she might simply be a nightmother in this event, help Hilda in the kitchen, be part of the family effort to make the two feel part of the gang. But everything has a price and having to do all she can to keep the Church going against the odds has been both her price and her prize. And so, while others are having a party, she will do her level best to get the ritual right that will admit the adult children to the coven their father nearly destroyed. And she will pray to the Dark Lady, Satan or any entity that may listen that their baptism into the church isn't the trigger for any of the madness to return. 

It isn't that the twins are trouble; it is the memories they evoke. Zelda would have preferred a less public return but Prudence, who never got to kill her father, sees this return as her triumph. Zelda has already had to punish a lad who, as a joke, shouted Hail Judas, and Hilda has had to take care of one or two of the chaps who were part of that fascist band of brothers she had to re-educate to show more respect for witches when she became High Priestess. A few more male egos come to mind that would only need a little encouragement here or there to happily join in any movement that would lead to the proper order of the sexes to be restored. She isn't sure either Sabrina or Lilith would pay enough attention to Greendale to intervene. Lilith is not to be trusted in this respect. Heaven, she herself isn't to be trusted. Zelda is in a century of her life in which she finds it hard not to take a certain pleasure in the beauty of the male beast when they flock together. And yet, no good has ever come to witchkind from gangs of warlocks ready to be found by trouble. 

So tomorrow it is an all female gaggle of witches who will be at the ceremony in the woods, with herself in her finest vestments presiding, and Sister Burrows conducting the unholy choir, which will consist of Prudence's and her own daughters only. If anyone in the coven has the bad taste to suggest that the newly baptized witch and warlock might as well get married while they're at it, she is going to make sure something horrible happens to that person. Zelda is not going to take any chances in this respect. No Blackwood blood is going to be made any purer by incest of any kind on her watch. The young man may be her long lost nightson but should he show the slightest interest in any sister or niece she will not hesitate to end him herself. 

Zelda lights a final cigarette, a last smoke before she will climb the stairs that will take her to the place of worship, for a quick prayer before she goes home. Tonight she won't descend even deeper into the bowels of the earth to feed her monster. She isn't in the mood to talk to him tonight, and he will just have to go hungry for once. 

Tomorrow, after the ceremony, there will be time enough. 

She will unspell his cell door, feed him and let him take a constitutional in the inner courtyard, which is an unholy space reserved for the clergy. What exactly happens next depends. 

If he is in a foul mood, and believes he has detected a new male in her orbit, he will yell at her, call her a Spellman whore, the reason for his downfall, weep for his lost son and threaten her with violence. She may have no choice but to use the spell with which she chained him to the wall before. The first time she bound him so was when she found him rummaging through her unholy books in search for a spell, about two years after he and the twins had disappeared. She has not felt the need to physically restrain him for a few years now but she will never be unprepared for his toxic jealousy again. Neither will she tell him anything that might provoke his temper or awaken his lust for domination beyond that which can be safely contained in their games. 

More often than not they will share a drink, sit by the fire, read, play a game of chess and talk theology. He will praise her intellect and concede that she may have been right about the suitability of females for high office. She will be ironic in her response and he will enjoy her wit. They may even reflect a little but not too much on their arrangement, as they call it, which they consider grounded in the theologically sound principle of correspondence. It is appropriate that the Dark Lord's representative on earth should be confined underground by the representative of Lilith. As likely as not they will eventually explore the finer points of carnality as a principle of Satanic ritual and have sex.  
  
Occasionally one or both of them will feel the need for confession or spiritual guidance. Zelda knows what she can safely confess to and what she keeps from him. She assumes he does the same. It's a ritual they have perfected over the years. 

She keeps a whip in her office drawer, just in case. 

Over the years, the sex has been good, sometimes brilliant. Lately she has wondered whether, despite all, some of their sexual encounters might not have become more akin to love making than she is entirely comfortable with. 

It had taken her the best part of a decade to forgive him for the way he treated her when they were first married and to accept that his lust for power, his intellect, his deep devotion to dark principles and his appreciation of the same qualities in her are irrevocably entwined with a deep-rooted sense of entitlement as a Blackwood. As a proud Spellman, she can understand family pride but disapproves of the imbalance of humours and, frankly the lack of judgment, that led him to the barbaric extremes he went to to further the ascendancy of the Blackwood name. He cannot be trusted to get it right if a set of circumstances arises which could lead to a relapse. And yet, he is the father of her daughters, and when she sees his face go still in anger at something it is less the monster he was that she sees than the Blackwood face Claudina or Irene made when they were three, right before they threw a tantrum. 

It's that thought that makes her change her mind.


	2. In the Bowels of the Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beast is fed.

The eternal fire in the hearth that has no chimney burns warmly. He is absorbed in a book and barely looks up when she comes in with his tea and sandwiches. It's the _Pseudodoxia Maleficarum_ she has given him as a solstice present. In return he had directed her to a secret compartment underneath the old altar and gifted her with the handwritten copy of the first edition _Religio Medici_ that a predecessor had hidden there. Both had ignored the blatant truth that it should have been burnt centuries ago and that it was hers already, since she was the High Priestess. 

“Aren't you going to stay?” he asks when she doesn't sit down. 

“No, Hilda's expecting me. Sabrina's here for the weekend,” she replies, truthfully. 

“Ah, family night.” He has already lost interest. 

She bends over him and kisses his forehead. “Tomorrow you can hear my confession.”

A smile flits across his face and he tucks a strand of her hair back where it belongs. 

“Hail Satan,” he murmurs, to annoy her, but her “Hail Lilith” shows she hasn't taken the bait. 

“Tomorrow,” they both say at the same time, and she leaves, spelling the door locked behind her.


	3. Faustus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faustus has no regrets.

Faustus knows and mostly respects the boundaries she has set when she decided to take off the spell that shackled him to the wall, a few years after she had decided not to kill him or make his presence known to his enemies, as would have been her right and her duty. There is a truce between him and Zelda, one that means that certain topics are taboo. Faustus still hasn't asked her why she did not kill him, though he thinks he can guess by now. She is a traditionalist at heart, and a contract is a contract. 

Faustus is at peace with himself. He has fought a hard and bloody fight for his vision, only to be utterly defeated and humiliated. But defeat and humiliation have turned out to be a place of redemption. He chooses not to dwell too much on this truth, which is too close the False God's teachings for a Satanist. 

He remembers Zelda’s visits to his bound, gagged self. She mostly came to shout at him, about what was wrong with his despicable soul. She had her tenfold revenge for the Caligari spell he had to cast on her in Rome when her outrageous flirting so blatantly undermined his authority. 

At some stage she realized that she wanted answers, too, and she took off the gagging spell, and started feeding him that sickly sweet cake. 

They began talking theology and demonology and while she hardly ever simply accepted his views on matters of worship, their point and counterpoint seemed to clear her mind. 

Also, there was the sex. First while he was still chained up, then, in order to allow for more variety, she unbound him, accidentally setting him free.

He did not kill her and run. Where would he have run to? 

All else followed. 

He is more comfortable than he has been in centuries. Not craving for more power all the time has been oddly liberating. As is his hidden presence under the Church he once led, secret like a seed deep in the earth. 

He knows he has daughters but has never seen them except as babes and does not always remember how many there are or all of their names. Raising them is a task he is happy to leave to her. He doesn't much care that they have yet to learn who begot them. Maybe more surprisingly, he doesn't mind that they are Spellmans by name as long as they are also Blackwoods by blood. He firmly believes that one day Spellwoods will rule the universe. 

He has decided that this existence is his true destiny, one set by the Dark Lord himself, although in the end he got to choose which Spellman whore he bows down to. 

He has no regrets. 

They both know that by now he has the power to unlock his cell and leave but what purpose would that serve in the overall scheme of things? 

What does it matter that he had a son? This is the age of witches. And he is the begetter of witches. Witches born to the one witch he might admit is his equal. Witches who will be the best of their kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still a bastard. Rest assured he has some redeeming qualities although they're really hard to see.


	4. Whose Business?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilda gets nostalgic. Zelda gets annoyed twice on the same evening.

Hilda watches her sister read her Satanic bible, the one she was gifted by her nightmother and has been reading every night since she could read. 

They normally don't share a bedroom any more and that they do so tonight, when all rooms are full of members of their extended families, makes Hilda nostalgic for the olden days when it was her and not one of her nieces who so got on Zelda’s nerves that she killed her. 

“She was only curious, Zelds. She didn't mean any harm. ”

"Julia is my daughter, Hilda, and it is my Lilith given right to kill her as often as I want. She should know better than to meddle in what isn't her business. I have made it quite clear what the Church's position on this part of human science is, and what does she do, she goes and gets herself one of these _heavenly_ test kits. It's only by chance I found it before she sent it off. Apart from everything else, the data they collect and share provides a free tool for witch hunters to track us down once one purebred witch has been identified. And despite our girls, Hilda, the Spellman family is still an endangered species.”

“We've always managed, haven't we? I'm sure there's a spell we could come up with, should the need arise. Prudence started this DNA thing and what with the excitement of her long lost siblings turning up, it's no wonder other witches want to see whether they can identify any relatives in other parts of the world who are invisible to finding spells and see where their families came from before they came to Greendale. Even though I have to say Prudence should have been named _Imprudence_ , really. Can you imagine how thrilled people would be if she finds more of Blackwood's spawn? They might decide to _do unto the children as they wished they could have done unto the father_.” She giggled nervously. “Don't be too harsh on your girls, Zelds. Don't you remember how hard it was to be the High Priest's children? It's bound to be the same in your girls’ case. I know there's no harrowing any more but there's bound to be something else of the kind. And I know it's absolutely none of my business but, Zelds, people _are_ talking. Carnal liberation may be a wonderful theory but people like to know who is whose, if you know what I'm saying. Not that I would ever hold it against you that you don't want a permanent fixture in your life after what was done to you.” 

Hilda blushes furiously. She has just crossed several red lines and expects dismemberment. 

Zelda just stares at her sister, coldly. “You're right, Hilda,” she says, “it's absolutely none of your business. And I wouldn't attempt to discuss theology or call your High Priestess a whore, if I were you.” 

She resolutely holds up her bible but looks at its open pages unseeingly.

As always, it will be Zelda, who will have to find a way to keep this mess from hurting her family. A family which includes two members who aren't known as such to anybody but herself: the warlock she has been hiding from the wrath of her coven under her church and the youngest life they created, safely growing inside her. She clutches her bible, while she hears her own mother's voice berating her, “Consequences, actions have consequences."

When Hilda leaves her bed to put an arm around her sister and rub her back for a bit, Zelda doesn't resist the sense of comfort that envelops her. 

Since words have consequences, too, Hilda decides to leave it at that, and not say anything more that might upset Zelda any further. Wordlessly, she climbs back into her bed. 

As so often when they were younger, it is Zelda who has the last word, when she wishes her sister good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it for the moment. But it's not the end yet.


	5. In Inferno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other realm has become Lilith's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit dark maybe but necessary.

Lilith finds that she enjoys being the Queen of Hell. She knows there may be a day of reckoning but for the time being she will have hell and its demons to herself and do as she pleases. 

She wishes to be left alone. She has deserved her _me time_ , she thinks any time a ritual or incantation pulls at the unseen strings that keep the two realms attached. She uses a sharp pair of scissors to snip herself free and puts up glued stripes of paper to catch the anti-prayers of witches and warlocks that surround her like gnats and moths drawn to the flame. When the stripes are full, she throws them in the pits of hellfire. Rites, rituals and mortal souls are needed to keep the fires of hell going but Lilith has not got time for involving herself in the petty lives of mortals and witches. She has had to do enough of that in the past.

So far she finds this aspect of her rule of hell a nuisance, mildly annoying, and only occasionally responds by sending hail, fire or locusts to the fields of some overly active covens. She hopes they get the message. Occasionally, she orders one of her demon sons to reinforce the doors and locks of hell. She doesn't understand what's so hard about leaving her in peace for a bit.

In hell, Lilith enjoys doing as she pleases. Taunting her former overlord is something that pleases her greatly. Doing this by making the vessel in which he has been bound worship her pleases her most. She hopes the vessel will hold up a while longer before she has to choose a new container. Nick Scratch is such a pretty warlock.

*

The Dark Lord, bereft of most of his power but none of his anger, has needed some time before finding the shape that allows him to corrupt his vessel, and to grow stronger again, slowly but surely.

*

Nick Scratch knows he is literally being eaten up from the inside. 

Sometimes he imagines it is shame or regret that causes the rhythmic slow cramps that are burning in his stomach, heart and intestines, just to give himself the illusion that he can escape and survive. He knows that he is lying to himself.

Mostly it is hard to feel anything but the scorching tongues of hellfire and ice that lick his body, which would pull him into a vortex of raging lust and yearning had it not been bound to the posts of what his mind suggests to him is a bed. The sheets on which he lies, if they are sheets, are either too hot or too cold, and slightly rough, as if breadcrumbs had been sown into them. Beaks of what surely are birds are picking at the braincrumbs, and at his skin, and the little creatures that are crawling all over and into him, including his anus, the inside of his ears, his nose and under his eylids. They do not manage to break his skin or membranes but every prick and every bite causes a mixture of excruciating pain and exquisite desire to wash over his body. What exactly is happening to him is something his brain cannot proccess, addled with images of all kinds of creatures in lascivious contortions, fornicating and feeding ravishly upon each other. His ears are filled with indinstinguishable arythmical noises of screams, whispers, screeching, and growling, which simultanously are too low, too loud and too irregular to make sense of, swelling and ebbing at the same time.

Nick would have no sense of time at all, if the fever of heat, ice, pain and noise he is in was not regularly interrupted by moments of absolute and total nothingness. These are the calm before the storm, when Lilith, the Mother of Demons, the Queen of Hell, descends on him. He has been called upon to worship.

He can never remember what happens to him during these visitations, whether she speaks to him or to the presence contained in him, and what exactly she makes him do or does with him.

All he knows that he is awake and aware, feeling both sated and drained when she has been and gone. In his mouth, there is the taste of blood, honey, fruit or wine, and a slightly fishy and salty taste that gives him the sense of being suffocated by something wet and heavy. On his body her teeth and nails have left marks. Sometimes he has a new deep bite in his thighs or buttocks, an open wound that will fester and burn; mostly he just feels sweaty and sticky all over his face and body, and his prick and nether regions are still wet from what both of them must have spent.

In the silence before he once more loses his mind to the heat, the cold, the lust and the noise, he feels the presence of Satan in him, a giant furious wrathful tapeworm rapaciously swallowing him up, bite by bite, from the inside. 

In those few moments when he can think clearly he thinks of Sabrina. He has no regrets. Learning about love from Sabrina has been a miracle. As everything, it has come with a price. Eventually, he knows, only the outer shell of his body will remain. For Sabrina's sake, he hopes against hope that it will be enough to contain the Darkness it holds.


	6. Mater Familias

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're back in Greendale, and so is Sabrina. Zelda is worried but will find some relaxation later.

It is the morning before the night of the Dark Baptism, and the Spellman House kitchen is full of mothers, daughters, cousins, sisters chatting happily as they tuck into their breakfast. Other family members have already finished their meal but loiter so as to not miss any of the fun.

Zelda, from behind her paper, and smoking, as always, is keeping an eye on everyone, including Jules, who is still looking a bit pale but has eaten a big bowl of porridge, and has her nose buried in one of her comics. On the other side of the room, Sabrina is showing Selena, Irene and Locasta how to wear the North African head scarves she brought as a gift for all the girls. Fiona, who is Hilda's youngest, is trying to tie hers around her mum's head. Hilda's face is one of well-practiced patience. The matriarch of all she surveys, Zelda allows herself a half-smile.

Sabrina Spellman rarely visits Greendale these days, and her aunts are thrilled to have her around for the occasion, although Zelda is slightly suspicious of Sabrina's timing.

If Sabrina believes that there is something the return of the twins can or will contribute to her efforts to reopen the gates of hell, Zelda would like to know about it. It is she, after all, who is the High Priestess and she who would have to deal with any profane occurances and their effect on the coven. Sabrina seems to have come to the conclusion that the Dark Lord has been vanquished and that the Queen of Hell can be persuaded to let Nick Scratch go if only a way into hell could be found. 

Zelda has repeatedly tried to explain to Sabrina what binding and encasing an entity in a vessel means, with examples from the _Olden Testament of Nebukadnezar_ and the writings of the Witch of Endor. Surely the most powerful entity so caught would not have less effect on his vessel than those written about in these books. Sabrina has firmly rejected the idea that, as all vessels are eventually corrupted and must be replaced or will be taken over by the bound entity, maybe there is no point to her quest. So far, Zelda has failed to persuade Sabrina that they should be grateful to Nick for his sacrifice and leave dealing with this issue to the Higher Power of Lilith. Zelda even once let her see selected pages from the _Secret Book of Lilith_ , which she had put together with the help of Faustus, from various ancient sources and from their memories of all their encounters with the Mother of Demons. Dangerous as such talk could be, it would be worth it if she could make Sabrina understand that Lilith can be venerated and imitated but should not be trusted to care strongly for the well-being of witches and warlocks. And that Greendale and all Spellmans should be thankful that the Queen of Hell seemed to have decided to keep the realms separate, at least for the time being.

All to no avail. Even if all that Sabrina was hoping for could be achieved, which Zelda doubts, there would be a price to be paid and likely one that would bring pain and suffering to other people than themselves. Alas, Sabrina, like Edward before her, has a one-track mind when it comes to persuing _love_. Sabrina is looking for a way into hell. She has been doing so since she first enlisted her mortal friends to help her with this task and will not stop doing so until she has achieved what she wants to achieve. Sabrina will never give up on Nick Scratch, and all her life choices have been taken with view to this goal. Dr Sabrina Spellman, world renowned anthropologist, author of the authoritative book on _Witchcraft Rites across the Globe_ , half-mortal, half spawn of the Dark Lord, all Spellman, is on a mission to map and discover all covens around the globe who might have information about how to gain access to hell in order to find a long lost teenage love interest. No matter what the consequences for anybody else.

Zelda snorts, and turns back to the headline of the article she has been trying to read.

_**The Science of DNA Testing Explained. Why These Days, Family Secrets Aren't Safe.** Also, see inside, **Local Woman Finds Her Adopted Twin**_

The nagging worry is at Zelda again. She will have to find out why Sabrina went to meet up with Prudence yesterday, before she even said hello to Hilda. A friendly visit, maybe, but maybe also a consultation, one to which she herself was not invited. Although she has explained to her coven and to her relations, in graphic detail, how potentially dangerous to all of them using mortal technology and mortal databases to find information about witches and warlocks can be, she doubts that Sabrina will heed her if it does not suit her. She never has.

Maybe she can have a chat with Prudence before the ritual tonight. No better tomorrow. To get the day and the night right will demand her full attention. There are dresses to be sorted, the choir needs some more practice, more food needs to be prepared, daughters and nieces need to be instructed as to what to do and what not to do during the ceremony, the younger children need to be given something nice that will keep them occupied until they fall asleep to make up for their not being allowed to join and she is not sure she can leave that to Hilda. She also needs to have a last profane talk with her nightchildren to see that they really are serious about joining the coven, and take a last look at her unholy sermon. Her day is already impossibly full. Talking to Prudence about what Sabrina is up to will keep. She may even decide to talk to Sabrina rather than Prudence. But not today.

As she leaves the kitchen, Zelda reminds herself that some of the food in it will have to go to her monster, and enough of it to last him for a day or two. She will include some treats he enjoys though it is best not to take those foods that say "dark baptism" to him immediately. A gift basket or two for poor coven members will, as always, explain the absence of food stuff to whoever might pay attention to these things. While she has no qualms about being economical with the truth and letting her family know what they need to know only, she prefers to keep her lies and omissions simple. She has no intention of getting caught in contradictions and prefers not to talk about something to outright fabrications. This is as true of the way she deals with her family and the coven as it is of her relationship with Faustus. Often the less is said the better it is for all concerned. And yet, today, between her other duties, she will ask him to take her unholy confession. There are enough instances of her being weak and imperfect she can confess to and she can express her major worries in such general terms that she will not even have to lie by omission. She looks forward to being at his mercy for a while and receiving unholy absolution. She has been feeling tense lately, and taking unholy confession with him always relaxes her marvelously. 


	7. Familia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilda has to be lady of the house while Zelda is busy somewhere else.
> 
> The twins join the coven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hilda's point of view, mostly.

_Witches and Warlocks who are brought up by mortals are a danger to themselves and others. It is therefore absolutely necessary that they be brought back into the coven as soon as possible._  
From the _Enchiridion Maleficarum Maleficorumque_ by Augustus Blackwood. Translated from the original Latin by Faustus Blackwood.

***

Hilda wishes Zelda would hurry back from wherever she is doing whatever she is doing instead of being where she should be. In her sister's and oldest nieces' absence, Hilda has had to take over the duties of _the lady of Spellwood house_ , so to speak, and is serving tea and cake to their guests. It is awkward, to say the least. If Zelda wanted to take care of her pastoral duties in the Spellwood home rather than the school (in which all the older girls are probably still praticing tonight's hymns) or the meeting house, she should be here and not oblige her younger sister to make small talk to Prudence and the newcomers. 

Ambrose's and Prudence's girls' presence does not help. Ambrose is in and out of the room, as he only comes back for yet another cup of tea, only to disappear again into his old digs. Prudence's girls, who could be helping by keeping the youngest Spellwoods occupied, are much more interested in loitering and staring at their new-found uncle and aunt. Had she known she would be left alone to look after everybody, Hilda would not have given her own daughters leave to accompany Sabrina, who is visiting the mortal families of old friends. 

Julia, who is still sulking behind her comic book, is no help with her younger sisters, who are quite boisterous, either. Hilda pushes a generous slice of cake in her direction. She remembers only too well how tiring being killed and buried by Zelda and coming back to life, used to be.

“Have a slice of cake, sweetheart,” Hilda mumbles in her direction, while not taking her eyes off the three adult Blackwoods, who are sitting perched on the family sofa like foreign royalty who have dropped into a retainer's cottage. None of them look much like their father – _May he be carried away by angels if he isn't already in heaven above_ – but Hilda can't help but remember that time when it had been her own insistence Sabrina should receive spiritual advice with regard to her dark baptism that brought that monster into their home, all those years ago. She smiles nervously. Bless it, she shouldn't still be afraid of the Blackwoods after all these years but even though she remembers changing the diapers of at least two of them, she finds she is.

Julia does not look up from her reading but a hand appears and then disappears behind the comic with the slice.

Hilda pushes the plate in the direction of the three Blackwood siblings opposite her. “Do take some cake. Or some cookies?”

Prudence glares at her. 

Maybe she thinks Hilda's used one or the other of her _special_ baking recipes. Hilda wishes she had been brave enough. Nothing bad, just something to ensure no harm comes from these three. Nothing good has ever come from the Blackwood family, maybe with the exception of the young ones draped around the huge easy chair, in contortions only young teenagers can find comfortable. Prudence isn't exactly not good, Hilda amends in her own mind, but she would not trust her not to depose of the High Priestess given half a chance, she is that ambitious. Thank Lilith, Prudence's whole focus is still on finding her father and taking revenge. Not for the first time, Hilda thinks that Zelda has been quite skilfull at directing Prudence's attention towards that aim and away from Greendale.

The twins are unknown quantities but there is something about them that isn't quite right. They have nothing of the sweet babes they were when Hilda last laid eyes on them. It's not that they aren't still sweet in their deameanour, but that, in young adults in their mid-twenties, it's just weird _how_ sweet they are, especially the boy. Hilda likes friendly people, but these two just smile too much. And, _A Blackwood who is smiling is just showing the teeth he will bite you with_ , wasn't one of her grandmother's sayings for nothing. But then, Father Let's-Not-Mention-Him-Just-In-Case-Something-Bad-Happens rarely smiled, and that wasn't a good sign either.

For the umptieth time, Hilda refills the twins' cups.

Zelda's young ones have started a fight over who can ride the rocking nightmare in what order. Not everyone is young enough to want to ride that nightmare. They are all young enough to pick quarrels when they are bored.

Hilda sighs, puts a hand on Julia's elbow, and, when her niece looks up, Hilda nods at the plate with cake and cookies.

“Come on, Jules, be a good girl and take the little nuisances into the playroom and take the plate with you, since noone here seems to want anything to eat.” She pauses and adds, “And, of course, the young ladies, are excused, too, should they wish to leave.”

Prudence nods at her daughters but only Persephone, who has had the giggles all afternoon, leaves the room with Zelda's brood.

“So, have you finally decided on your baptismal names?”

Silence. The twins smile and Prudence blushes and then glowers.

It seems that this isn't a good topic either.

So far, getting any information out of them has been like extracting teeth. Hilda is curious and she wouldn't mind learning more about the twins' lives and how they ended up finding Prudence with that new-fangled scientific technology Zelda gets so upset about. So far, she knows only a few things. They are called O'Reilly as were their adoptive parents. They seem to believe Blackwood is Prudence's married name, since they have referred to her as our sister Prudence, that is, Mrs Blackwood, when they first came into the bookshop. Hilda is fairly certain that noone has disabused them of that notion yet. She knows that they were rescued from a burning house as very small children, adopted by one of the firemen and his wife, orphaned again in their teens and then were moved from foster family to foster family. They are heavily tatooed and, when they came back to the bookshop with Prudence, showed an interest in its occult section. Leticia, no Jill, chattered on about Celtic lore, faeries, reincarnation, and tree and animal spirits until Prudence shot her one of her looks. The one that reminded Hilda of her own sister. It seemed to Hilda that Prudence's jubilant joy at finding the twins had been replaced by a mix of affection, exasperation and annoyance. Currently annoyance seems to have won the day, though it is unclear whether it is annoyance with the twins, with Hilda or with the absent Zelda.

Jill smiles beatifically. “We'll be _Peter Lionel_ and _Anastasia Doe_ after the Romanovs whose reincarnations we are and our spirit animals. You know the ones who watched over our birth.”

Hilda, who knows of the exact circumstances of their birth, has a brief vision of Zelda and Prudence as lioness and doe, or maybe the other way round. 

Chloe pipes up, “I _have_ , repeatedly, tried to explain to them that that's nonsense but they won't listen.” She uses her fingers to count her reasons in a way that makes clear she has been doing this before, “Primo, witches are not reborn mortals because we are superior beings. Secundo, there are no spirit animals; there are familiars and they are demons. Tertio, no lion would watch over a birth, least of all with a doe. A lion would eat the babies and the doe. _Duh._ ”

“None of these are even witch names,” Helena, Prudence's oldest, complains. She, too, has obviously voiced this before, repeatedly. She has had enough troubles with her own name at the _Unseen Academy_ , and is obviously afraid her new-found aunt and uncle will add to them with theirs when they join the school as adult students after the baptism. She is the only one who was given the burden of the Blackwood surname by Prudence, who decided that in a family of three parents there should be three surnames, too. Persephone is a Spellman; Chloe is a Browne. “And I don't see why _you_ get to choose not to be Blackwoods when you are Blackwoods by birth,” is something Helena would like to say but doesn't because her mother, who, despite everything, carries the Blackwood name proudly, is sitting right there. Her face, however, gives that thought away to anybody who knows her.

Ambrose, who has just ambled in to pour himself yet another cup of tea, grins at his eldest, “Sure, what matters is what a witch or warlock makes out of their name. Your mother and I thought you'd have no problem to put hell into Helena. And you've proven us right.” 

Helena glares at his reatreating back. So does Prudence. Chloe mutters, “She sure has.” The twins smile their sweet smiles.

Hilda wishes Zelda would hurry up. 

***

When she finally arrives, two hours late and looking as radiantly beautiful as she ever has, Zelda makes short shrift of her unholy duties. She accepts their baptismal names without raising an eyebrow, although Hilda thinks she can see the hint of an eye roll.

“You do realize, my dears,” she says, “that there is no way you can already fully know and understand the teachings of the Unholy Church, and the meaning of our rites and rituals. But you are home in this coven. It is the coven you were born into. You will learn more about its history and your place in it, once you start school. And I, as your nightmother and High Priestess, will, of course, be there to guide you; as will your dear sister, whenever she is home from her travels and university duties.” 

Hilda sees all the Blackwoods relax.

Zelda continues, “All the commitment I need from you at this stage is that you will be led by me and that you will swear not to harm the coven. This,” she holds out an old prayer book to the twins, “was your mother's and I will take your unholy oath on it now that you wish to be part of what you are already part of by birth and that nothing will entice you to see any of its members be hurt, so help you the Darkness we pray to.”

After the twins have taken the oath and Zelda has said a short unholy prayer over them, she puts her arms around each of them briefly and gives each a peck on their cheeks. She holds Jill's chin up for a moment, and says, “What a pretty witch you have grown into, nightdaughter. I'm very pleased.” She smiles at both of the twins. “Praise Lilith, you are both home now, my dears. Constance would be so proud of you. And, of course, Prudence is, too, aren't you, dear? But now you'd better all go home, finish your preparations and try to get some rest before it's time for the ceremony. It's going to be a beautiful night. It's a full moon, and it is certain to be glorious.“

Not for the first time, Hilda wonders whether power always turns people into liars or whether being a liar is the prerequisite for hanging on to power. She has seen it in each and every high ranking member of the Church she has encountered, including her family. Each and every one of them displayed the same kind of smarmy hypocrisy that most members of the coven find so reassuring. Her sister isn't the worst of them because after she has mentioned the glorious moon that each and every witch who is about to be baptized is promised no matter what the weather forecast says, she blushes slightly and looks a bit guilty, at least if you know her as well as Hilda does.

***

As soon as the door has closed behind the Blackwood-Spellman-Brownes, Zelda lights a cigarette. “I'm famished,” she says, “Wasn't there supposed to be cake? Or cookies?”

Without waiting for Hilda's reply she takes a jar of pickled bird brains from the kitchen shelf, and pops some in her mouth. “That'll have to do, I suppose.”

She swirls around in a half-dance, half-exploration of the room.

“Where are my girls? Do we have an empty house?”

“Playroom, with some cake and cookies, if you're lucky.”

“Thank you, Hildy.” She smiles that truly dazzling smile at her sister that shows that she is happy. Then her face becomes a bit more earnest. “Seriously, Hilda, thank you.” And smiles again. “Help me carry the mixed crunchy locusts and bugs, peanutbutter sandies and pomegranate juice upstairs, will you? It's time they got ready for bed so they can get up again and munch as they bingewatch _Riverdale_ , or _Little Witch Academy_ all through the night.”

Carrying the second tray full of treats, Hilda follows her sister up the stairs. Zelda has that kind of walk and that kind of swing to her hips. Although they never ever talk about this topic if it can be avoided, Hilda always knows when her sister just had sex. She sighs a little. Of course, carnality is one of the seven unholy virtues and a High Priestess must act as she preaches. And yet, Hilda, who has not been with anyone since Dr Cee passed away, wishes she wasn't so obvious about it. So obvious to her sister anyway. She isn't envious but she prefers not to think about actual sex with actual warlocks or demons or whoever it is that Zelda gets it from when she has this spring to her step and the radiance she showed earlier. Zelda's obvious promiscuity does not bother Hilda, what bothers her is that she is forced to think about actual sex and to admit to herself that sleeping in her late husband's pyjamas, with her arms around a pillow which has a Damascene steel chain wound around it, is not the same. And yet, Zelda deserves her bit of fun, she supposes.

She watches Zelda help her little ones get ready for bed, and is glad to see that Julia ends up with the longest hug of all, as well as a kiss and a whispered mother-daughter conversation. One reason Julia has been acting up lately has been that, as she is turning fifteen, she feels ready for her own Dark Baptism and dislikes being treated as the child she really still is. When she returns her mother's hug, Hilda sees Zelda flinch slightly as her daughter grabs her back. So it has been one of those encounters, Hilda thinks, as Zelda smiles and strokes her daughter's hair, which is so like her own. 

“Night, night, sweetheart. It'll be your turn very soon. It's time to sleep now, so you can join the fun and games of the litle ones later, if you wish.. Griselda, Eva and Fiona will babysit the little ones so you can read your comic undisturbed on your birthday eve. And when midnight has come and been, you open up this wee box. It used to be your grandmother's, just so you know why it looks so old. And we'll have a party in a few days, remember, so, as we have discussed, it is not unfair that tonight and tomorrow belong to the coven.”

Julia starts making a rebellious face again, and Zelda sits up, and looks sternly down at her daughter, who nods slowly but, quite obviously to Hilda, still thinks it is unfair.

She doesn't even cheer up when her aunt wishes her good night and a happy birthday, and slips a note to buy more comics into her pyjama pocket.

***

Later, when Hilda has washed and dressed for the ceremony, instructed her daughters about what definitely not to allow the little ones to do and admonished them to make sure everybody is staying in the house, she knocks on Zelda's bedroom door before she reenters. She has no wish so see the welds on her sister's back, nor does she think does her sister have the wish to let her see what marks whoever it is has left on her back. Safer to knock.

Zelda is already fully dressed.

“Help me with my hair and veil?” She smiles. The sex must have been really good.

Hilda brushes her sister's hair, and pins and weaves strands into intricate patterns until all of it coils around her sister's head like a giant snake that is spewing a black veil over one of Zelda's shoulders.

“Very nice.” Zelda is pleased. Then, after a pause, “Aren't you going to say anything?” So tonight, they _are_ going to cross that line, after all.

“Well, I'm glad you are having fun, Zelds.”

“But?”

“But nothing.” After a pause she admits that, sometimes, it is hard to be alone.

“You don't have to be, Hilda”, Zelda says. “There's bound to be someone who can make you enjoy yourself a bit.” She turns, folds her arms, and looks at Hilda quizzically. “How about Young Jack? Or Peter Lionel as he's going to be? He seems virile enough and quite nice looking, and it would solve all sorts of problems.”

Hilda is gobsmacked.

“What?” Zelda says. “He's a male, a Blackwood, and someone who's been hailed heir and saviour when he was just a baby. I'm truly thrilled that he has been found but he still is a problem.” She shudders. “If he isn't safely contained by a witch who can handle him, all that strengthening the Blackwood blood madness might come up again. And even if he does not wed his sister, Lilith forbid, or goes down that path, he still isn't right for any young witch I can think of either. So, you'd be ideal Hildy. And if you're lonely...”

Hilda is still staring at her sister.

“You don't like him,” Zelda sighs, and turns back to her dressing table to light another cigarette. 

“I think he's a teensy weensy bit creepy, and not the good kind of creepy. But if you find him so “virile and nice looking”, why don't _you_ take care of that problem?” Hilda is quite miffed by now. How dare Zelda involve her in her machinations? Sure Zelda is her High Priestess. She accepts that being the High Priestess's sister comes with an obligation or two. She even prays to Lilith occasionally, thankful for the reprieve given to Sabrina. But she is not going to play politics or conveniently fall for a warlock who she has known as a baby to please her sister.”

Sometimes Hilda wishes she had the guts to take a hammer to her sister just to make her see the world from her perspective. 

“Right, the High Priestess and the Blackwood Heir, that sounds like one of those novels you read.” Zelda snorts mirthlessly. Her good mood seems to be evaporating fast. “Well, at least for a day or two, we are okay. Ambrose and Randolph are going to take him to one of their clubs and have a warlock only orgy. Maybe he turns out to be gay. That would solve all sorts of problems, too.” 

She looks at her sister's face looming above her in the mirror, like a frowning full moon. “Come on, Hildy, it was just an idea. I'm not going to make you.” 

“As if you could,” Hilda mutters, and pushes the hairpin that is trying to escape Zelda's hair back in again that bit harder. 

*** 

Noone notices that in that while her mother and aunt are having this conversation, Julia Spellman is climbing out of her bedroom window to read her comic in the bright moon light on the roof of the Spellman house. She doesn't know this but she is keeping up a family tradition since her favourite spot on top of her world is one that belonged to her cousin Sabrina and her mother Zelda when they were fifteen. 

*** 

Later that night, during the Dark Ceremony, there is no full moon to be seen, as dark clouds have moved across it. Torches burn brightly and throw shadows over the faces of the assembled witches, who are welcoming two new members to their coven. The ceremony is simple but poignant. The choir is intuning the simplest of the unholy hymns that may be chosen to grace this occasion. No mention is made of the Blackwood legacy. Prudence presents two lost witches to the coven. Anastasia Doe and Peter Lionel O'Reilly sign the book with their blood in the order of their birth. Zelda speaks movingly about what it means to be family and home to each other in an unholy community. 

Despite all that has occurred between them earlier, Hilda is moved to tears by her sister's sermon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Enchiridion Maleficarum Maleficorumque_ : Handbook of Witches and Warlocks
> 
> So, no proper Faustus/Zelda smut here, alas, although you can deduce what they have been up to. Spoiler Alert: There will be more explicit goings on, in the next chapter, when we return to Faustus's perspective. In the near future.


	8. Needle and Thread, Blood and Soil, One for Comfort, the Other for Toil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faustus has a secret, and continues to pay the price.
> 
> Faustus has Zelda to bring comfort and joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Blood and soil_ , really? Am I sure I want to go there? Yup, it's a dark world alright.
> 
> Also, Zelda and Faustus, and not just his POV.
> 
> Some promised Spellwood smut, but you have to skip quite a bit of narrative to get to it. In case you want to do so (or the opposite) I have marked the places where the smut starts with 5 asteriskes instead of 3. Be warned, it may be below expectations. I'm doing my best here but tastes differ ... :) 
> 
> Also, because of the faith system of this universe, this may feel blasphemous maybe. Not worse than what CAOS does, though. 
> 
> Finally, the _price_ Faustus is paying is not the _reason_ for any misdeeds he has committed except one, during the crisis mentioned in the story. Just to make sure that this is quite clear. No apologies. Nothing has _made_ him do anything so far except this once, and that happened much later than anything that happened in season 2. It might happen again, though, in future, if he lets it happen.

Taking the long view and accepting the price he continues to have to pay have brought something akin to peace to the warlock whose world these days is mostly confined to the cellars under the cellars of his former coven's meeting place. Over the years, Zelda has seen to it that his cell is furnished well enough to make him feel at home. She has even let him have his old desk, as well as a book case that she keeps replenished according to his interests, with some agreed upon exceptions. What they don't talk about, he doesn't get to read about. After the crisis that nearly ended their arrangement a few years ago, they have a tacit understanding which sleeping dogs they will not wake up again. There's even a fireplace they discovered and that is working without being a giveaway, and a drinks cabinet that holds his favourite brands. Zelda is providing food and shelter, and has been making sure all his creature comforts are being taken care of by herself without being too triumphalist about the unacknowledged but obvious fact that she is in a position to withdraw herself any time whereas he is not. Although he would not admit to feeling this way, he is embarrassed by how much more generous she is about this imbalance than he was during their early time together. Not that he likes to dwell on that time. Part of him has always known her to be better than him. These days he doesn't resent her for it.

It helps that he is keeping himself busy. He reads, he writes, he mends his clothes and has started repairing some of Zelda’s ornamental robes. This would be the role of the High Priest's wife but since none of his wives were any good at it he had been doing his own needlework even before his current circumstances. It amuses him greatly to think of himself as Zelda’s wife, when he quickly sews a button back on her blouse after they had sex. Zelda doesn't think of this in these terms. Although such a traditionalist in so many respects, she doesn't see, and never has, why she should do something she isn't good at when there's someone who is. Not that she would ever admit to not being good at anything. 

She does, however, appreciate not having to do what she hates doing. So, a quick glance at the traces the pricks of a misdirected needle may have left on his index finger has often led to her kissing his finger gently, like a babe's, and more carnal forms of rewarding him for his toil. He has never complained at being interrupted that way. 

Little does she know that some of the marks she has been kissing well, were put there by a needlework activity he has chosen not to let her know about. She doesn't need to know everything. She may have her secrets. He has his. 

Faustus finds that needlework has a calming effect on him, as do his other activities. He may not be able to achieve much in the here and now but he can address unholy mysteries in his reading and writing, he can please a witch into ecstasies of carnal pleasures while stimulating the powers of her intellect to its very highest level, and, if all else isn't available, he can make whole what is torn or incomplete, even if it is just a torn hem. Indeed, he has even begun to knit the tiny woollen socks and symbolic nooses needed for the secret Satanic cursing of the newborn infants of the coven Zelda has made him perform on the off chance that Satan returns. Personally, Faustus believes that the Dark Lord couldn't care less. After all, he heard him say words to that effect in the Old Days. But it makes Zelda feel better to keep this tradition, so Faustus doesn't mention that there likely as not is no point to it. After all, it means he gets to meet all newborns of the coven. Some of them obviously must have been his daughters, although Zelda has never discussed any infant's parentage with him. He assumes she realize he can do the maths. Ever since the crisis that nearly ended their arrangement he does, however, not care to think too deeply about what she does or doesn't get up to in the world above his lair. 

So the night in which his lost twin son and daughter rejoin the coven they were born into sees him ensconced in his comfortable chair, working on his secret. 

***

The first light of day is seeping through a slit in the curtains.

Zelda opens her eyes. For a moment, she does not know where she is and when she is. She briefly panics only to realize she is emerging from the depth of a night terror the details of which dissolve as soon as she comes to an awareness of her surroundings.

She is home, in her old bedroom, in her old bed, and Hilda is snoring quite loudly in the bed next to hers, which is what woke her.

It takes Zelda a further moment to figure out the when. 

Although her sister's bedside lamp is on it is already dawn. Only a few hours earlier she herself conducted the twins' Dark Baptism. It is a new day.

All is quiet. All seems well.

She could go back to sleep. It is a holiday and nobody in this house will get up before noon.

She turns and tosses for a while. Then she gets up, and dresses quietly and cautiously. On her way out, she pauses briefly, to pick up Hilda's reading glasses from the floor, and the book she was reading before falling asleep. Hilda turns, and her snoring is replaced by the slowly rhythmic breathing of deep sleep. The book is _Her Wildest Dreams, His Bride To Be_. Some things never change. Zelda smiles as puts the book and the glasses on Hilda's nightstand and switches off the lamp. As so often these past days, she sends a quick prayer of gratitude to the Dark for Hilda Spellman.

Downstairs, Zelda grabs a coat and the bag with the little pink plastic set of bucket and shovel that she orignally bought for Sabrina when she was little and that she found in the attic and repurposed two decades ago. The morning air is bracing as she heads towards their garden. 

***

In the bowels of the earth, Faustus's eyes are beginning to feel tired and the tingling in his extremities is becoming stronger and stronger. While his companion, the pholcid spider, has been busy enlarging its web, he has been doing the opposite. For hours now, he has been unravelling the gold thread of the ceremonial robe he secreted away. Despite the increasing numbness, which has been radiating from the tips of his tongue, his fingers and toes, he has been unwilling to stop unravelling and spooling the thread, unravelling and spooling, unravelling and spooling. Although the numbness starts to affect more and more of his extremities, he is tempted to continue with this monotonous chore, whose rhythm brings him peace. He knows he cannot if he wishes this and its purpose to remain a secret. So he folds what is left of the fabric, wraps it tight and hides it in the spare blanket that is stashed under his bed. He adds the spool of thread to the collection that he keeps in the hallowed out pages of his second volume of _Il Principe_. It is time to rest.

As sleep begins to descend on him, Faustus's thoughts return to that book and its tenets. He remembers his grandfather gifting him his first copy of it, which was actually a handwritten copy of the version distributed in Macchiavelli's lifetime, _De Principatibus_ , with a dedication. It is likely that this copy still sits between the various manuscripts in the old library of the Unholy Academy. How eager he was as a younger warlock to follow his grandfather's strictures to also learn from the enemy. And to learn about power from those who wielded it or who understood it, even in the mortal realm, unworthy and short-lived as mortals might be. So in addition to the Unholy Scriptures and Profane Interpretations and the lives of the great warlocks, he sat down to study government and war. Let the Spellmans look for mechanical toys and such nonsense. He would look straight into the eye of the heavens and the hearts of the mighty among mortals to harness what he found there to forge the destiny of their own kind and the Blackwood name.

He remembers how much he used to enjoy strategizing, playing the games he learned and fine tuning the knowledge when to set one enemy against the other and when to create facts by sheer brute force. 

In the old days, what he learnt gave him ideas. These days it visits him in the daymares that come upon him when he feels weak and in the night terrors that invade his sleep. 

When his eyelids and limbs begin to feel heavy, when his tongue and extremities begin to tingle and feel numb, and his eyes stop being able to focus, Faustus knows it is time to let go. His mind will drift, maybe to sleep, definitely to dream. He must let go and give himself up to what comes rather than let what comes find him awake and aware. He knows by now that if he does not let himself be pulled into the there, the there will come and find its way into the here and now, and, through him, in him and with him, remake this world into its image.

As he drifts off, he remembers that at some stage Zelda will be there, time will have passed and he will use the last bit of willpower left to him to wake up from the horror and take the succour her presence will bring. He wonders whether she realizes how weak he has become again lately. For both their sakes, he hopes she doesn't. A small rebellious part of him hopes she does, and that it doesn't make a difference. That she will, this time, be his and by his side, no matter what. He has scolded himself for being a fool. Of course she would and should not stick around if he is no use to her or worse happens. He understands that now. But ever so often he can feel the little stinging treacherous flame of hope that is so unlike the anger, the rage and the overwhelming pain that lurk underneath his comfortable existence and that pull him in when his weakness is upon him. 

***

When she has filled her little pink bucket with soil, Zelda lights a cigarette. The wind blows the smoke into her face and plays with the loose strand of her hair that has come unstuck. She could go back to the house and go to see him when she said she would, later today. She knows she will not. She lights another cigarette.

Recently Zelda hasn't been very consistent when it comes to visiting her monster. Although she will not admit this even to herself it is a sign of how unsettling the return of the twins has been.

She has found it hard to concentrate, and, quite often, gives in to sudden urges to see that he is still there, unchanged, in the bowels of the earth. She may be in the middle of preparing a lesson or service, half asleep, or, worse, in the middle of a conversation, when the feeling becomes nearly overpowering that she ought to check that the invisible walls she has created are still intact. The invisible walls that keep him safe, from the wrath of victims and family. The invisible walls that keep them safe from the all devouring rage within him that she suspects is merely asleep, kept at bay by her care and the amenities his sheltered life, no, that _she_ provides him with. The invisible walls between him and the world that keep him safe from himself.

After all these years she has a routine that she has learnt best suits both of them and that leaves enough time for her to fulfil the demands of her other lives. After all these years, she knows she needs to be a headmistress and teacher, a priest and unfaith leader, a mother, sister, aunt and the head of her family, and, also, herself alone, before she can be with him and not lose herself. And yet, these days, more often than not, she gives in to the sudden sense that she must see whether he is alright. It is a mix of worry and longing, which bothers her. It reminds her of the periods in her life when Sabrina and the girls were tiny. As soon as she sets eyes on him, she feels at ease. She always has something she brings, does or asks so that her increasingly irregular appearances never have no apparently compelling reason. She has learnt to be pragmatic, self-deprecating or ironic when there is the slightest chance that her emotions might become visible. She thinks she has succeeded. He may have raised an eyebrow once or twice at her being back so soon but hasn't given her any reason to think that he suspects anything is wrong. Once he teased her about being a scatterbrain when she returned to his lair within the hour but that is all. Once or twice she had the impression that she interrupted something private but the focused and quite enthusiastic attention he paid to ensure that her physical needs were taken care of reassured her that it could not have been anything too important. She knows it is obvious to both of them that he needs her. In those rare moments when she admits the truth of the matter to herself she wonders whether he knows how much she has come to need him. For both their sakes she hopes he doesn't. A small rebellious part of her hopes he does. 

***

Stretched out on his bed, Faustus lets go of the here and now.

_It is his grandfather who awaits him there._

 _Faustus's eyes burn and his body hurts as his head is forced to look up into the midday sun by the hand that has him by the neck. "Look," his grandfather's voice says, "See what the light **is**." Orange flecks dance a jolly dance across his momentary blindness. "Look and remember," his grandfather's voice says. Orange flames burn brightly as the crowd jeers and brothers and sisters are eaten up by the holy fires that will send their souls to the high heavens. "Look at the sons of light," his grandfather's voice says. "Learn who they are. Learn from them. Learn to be strong." _

_He is among them, he is under them, he is them, those who serve them and those who command them. He sees, feels, hears, smells, and tastes what they see, feel, hear, smell and taste. In the merciless light of the sun, he is the mighty general and he is the horse the mighty general is riding over the bodies of his enemies in battle after battle, in an ever faster sequence of carnage following upon carnage. Where they ride no grass will ever grow again. He is Alexander and Bucephalos, Caesar and Genitor, Attila and Othar. He feels the exhilarating sense of power that comes with making the land yours. The land you have marked as your own through the blood of your enemies._

_He is the men that fight and live and the men who fight and die. Corpses pile upon corpses. The day is dry but the ground underneath him is moist, soaked with the blood of the many who have been slaughtered, of men, women, and children. On the day of battles and on the day of massacres. Saint Crispin's Day. Saint Bartholomew's Day. Antwerp. Magdeburg. Drogheda. Warsaw. So many more places, so many more bodies. So much blood soaking into so much ground._

_The sky is blue, the sun burns down on him. After the clamour and the screaming the silence that has descended is eerie, laying itself like a carpet over the dead and the dying and on those who will die another time._

_Massacre and silence. Again and again and again. And again._

_The cawing of the crows and the shrieking of gulls descending on the corpses comes as a relief. As does the laughter and chatter, as cigarettes are lit and passed around. The smoke of his cigarette blows in his face and there is something comforting about that. Booze is passed around, too. A job well done; time for jokes, for the easy cameraderie that binds them together as much as their utter contempt for the vermin they have just exterminated. No time to relax yet though. Orders are shouted. Heads are held high, as are hands, and then, once more, boots are marching in unison. They ought to be shiny but they are not. They are dirty, with dried mud, dried shit and dried blood. The black uniforms are soaked in sweat and urine and stink to the high heavens. The rhythm is slower than it should be and the men's voices that sing of a light that will lead them on, on to victory, are somehow wrong, dragging on, too deep, like an old tape that is played too slowly. The rhythm changes once more, picks up speed, they're on a train now, and the sound of marching and singing men has turned into the clickety clickety sound of train wheels. It's blissfully dark inside but the smell of fear, death, sweat and testosterone is everywhere. Blood and soil, blood and soil, blood and soil, the train goes, as it hurtles itself across time and space into the horror in which it is not mortals he sees slain but his own kind, and their blood he is wading through, through the millenia, to the greater glory of Himself. Himself alone. Alone._

_He is alone._

_He is all that is there. He is all there is._

_Himself. Alone._

***

When Zelda finds him, he has kicked off his duvet. His body is glowing, and his temperature is higher than it has been in a long time. He has bitten his tongue, which is swollen and is bleeding into his cushion. His extremities are red and inflamed, sweat is pouring off his face and body. His bedlinen, which she only changed the day before, is soaking wet, and stinks of sweat, urine and feces. 

Only a few years ago, Zelda used to resent that it was she who got to clean up the messes left behind by the males in her life but motherhood has given her a new perspective. Babes are much more work intensive, and the stench of their poo beats that of a sick warlock any time. She remembers how relieved she was when Hilda first took care of this side of things when Sabrina was a toddler. With so many babes, she supposes she has gotten used to it. These days, when she finds Faustus like this, she thinks of him as her babe, to be taken care of, cleaned and restored. Not that she would ever hurt his pride by letting him know. Also, once he recovers, there is nothing childlike about him. She has decided quite some time ago that what follows is worth anything she may have to do first. 

She was right. All of the bottles and boxes she stores in his bathroom are empty. She has to start from scratch. First she makes sure that she catches some of his blood in a little vial. Then she puts some of the soil she has brought into his mouth and around his genitals. It will stop the bleeding, and take care of the swelling and the inflammation. She speaks seven _Dark Lords_ over the prone warlock, not because she believes prayer will help but because she has found that seven _Dark Lords_ and a _Hail Lilith, Mother of Demons_ perfectly captures the time needed for this. Speaking the latter she scoops some of the soil into a vessel she keeps in the bathroom for that purpose, adds water and Faustus's blood. She picks one of the pins he keeps everywhere for his sewing and mending and pricks her index finger, to add three droplets of her own blood to the mix. She found that this greatly improves the result. She uses a towel to clean Faustus's genitals and then washes off the sweat, blood, urine and feces that have dried on his cooling body. She does so two more times, then uses lukewarm water and soap to clean him properly. She rolls him over again, and lifts him, as needed, to change the bedlinen. Finally, she washes and combs back his hair. 

Through all of this, Faustus shows no awareness of what is happening. Zelda has no idea what is happening to him or why it is happening. She senses that he may not know himself or have chosen not to tell her. No matter. She knows how to restore him and that is all she needs to know she thinks. 

His eyelids begin to flutter but he doesn't wake up yet. It is the sign she has been waiting for. She pours some of the mixture into a beaker, adds some honey and some whiskey, lifts his head and pours the liquid down his throat. He swallows without waking. 

Now that she is sure he will be alright, she gets rid of the dirty bedlinen, puts the remaining mixture and soil into bottles and boxes, and stores them in the bathroom. Finally, she takes a shower to clean herself, crawls into his bed, puts her arms around him, and drifts off to sleep. 

*****

Whenever Faustus wakes from the other place, it is because of Zelda. He is not sure what she knows about what happens to him there. He himself is not so sure what happens to him there because all that remains in his memory are fragments of horror that are like shards of glass in his conscious mind. When he steps on certain thoughts, there is a brief flash of the horror, and hurt.

Faustus also does not know in what state she finds him and what exactly it is that she does to him to bring him back to the here and now. Whenever her voice and her body have pulled him back, he feels cleansed and strangely invigorated. He feels that he has been called from the pits of the horror to be the warlock she needs him to be in the here and now, and he is more than ready as soon as he opens his eyes and feels her arms around him.

As soon as he opens his eyes this time and feels her snuggled up to him, he has this sense of great joy and desire surge through each and every one of his extremeties. He turns and finds her ready to join in their communion of bodies. Her lips are soft, their kisses begin cautiously, with lips touching but soon turn into a hungry exchange, with each taking turns to explore what they hunger for, until they find it hard to tell, where one begins and the other ends; fingers entwine and explore; her body shivers under his touch, and her fingers draw secret runes on his back. 

"Me first;" he whispers and lets his lips nible her throat, down to each of her nipples and between her breasts, where he begins licking and kissing, licking and kissing, down a straight line until the rich crop of red hair he so lives to bury his nose in. He takes a detour via her thighs, which he bites playfully, and licks, and kisses, until she opens them wide enough to let him to the place of joy. HIs nails bite into her buttocks as he pulls her higher so he can reach her salty marshes and that little nob under the bushes the touch of which makes her buck in pleasure like a young horse; he, too, feels like a horse, a young, untamed one, unridden but about to be tamed by the most glorious of witches, eating his fill at her glorious trough before she will mount him and show him that there is pleasure to be found, in being ridden, and joy, and peace. His tongue, once more agile and without the slight numbness in its tip that so often remains, is doing its job so well it doesn't take long until he can hear her breathing speed up and be released into a low moan as her inner walls contract. 

He can't help but smirk a little and is ready to lie back and have her ride him, but she stops him by putting her hand on his straining prick and stroking it gently, and says, "Not yet. I want to be fucked, too. Hard."

He puts a hand on hers to stop her. "I won't be able to if you continue doing that." She takes her hand away but her cat-like grin nearly sends him over the edge.

Faustus adapts his position, and after another long kiss, winds her luscious hair around his right hand. If he is to ride her, he will have his rein. 

He concentrates so as not to spend as soon as he enters her. 

Then he is off. It is a glorious ride, for both of them, if her expression is anything to go by. She kicks and bucks like a filly but he shows her no mercy. He knows she'd be quick to use her nails to show her displeasure should he be too rough. Or to slow for that matter. But this time their rhythm is perfect, and Faustus gives himself over to the rhythm of what has become a dance for him. He dances her to the end of time and back to its beginning, to the beginning of what might be lust, or might be l—... Just before he gets there, she comes, with a loud scream of pure, unadulterated pleasure. 

Again he is sorely tempted to simply spill himself into her but, once more, he holds back. He wants to have his ride, too, and let her do some work for a change.

*****

When she has caught her breath again, she sees him lying on his back, his eyes on her expectantly, his rod standing proud and stiff. 

"You _are_ insatiable," she whispers fondly, more to herself than to him. And she climbs on top of him. 

His face shows how much he is enjoying himself, as she moves up and down his length, while whispering his name, again and again. 

*****

"Sing for me," he moans, as she increases her speed. And she does. 

Faustus worships at the altar of Zelda. He rejoyces in the glorious witch who is riding him towards completion. This is what he can believe in. This is his church now. Her hair surrounds her head like a bright orange aureole; her face is lit with lustful enjoyment. He gives himself to her with all his senses while he still can, and then he lets go of the here and now, and comes. 

***

Later Zelda will change the bedlinen, again. Later she will make Faustus drink a second glass of his medicine and they will breakfast on dry biscuits, honey and Turkish coffee. Later she will make brunch for her extended family and surprise Hilda by giving her a hug and a signed first edition of _Pride and Prejudice_ and a watercolour their maternal aunt made of the author because it is her little sister's birthday. And Hilda will not be any the wiser about where she disappeared to this morning because, although Hilda believes she can, she can in actual fact not tell when her sister has had sex, except occasionally. 

But here and now, and for a little while longer, Zelda enjoys the afterglow of her third orgasm this morning, the aftertaste of the cigarette they shared, and the feeling of the body and arms her husband has folded around her, while he keeps whispering her name as if it was some sort of prayer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a long time in the making. I'd love to hear what you think.
> 
> PS: Addendum: Apologies to all early readers but I have had to change the book title of the book Zelda will give to Hilda. Same author, so I hope noone minds. xxx M.


	9. Secrets Have Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some secrets are revealed and there are consequences. 
> 
> While the Spellman house gets ready to receive witches for the Festival of Brigida, warlocks seek the company of other warlocks. 
> 
> When three visitors bring trouble, Hilda and Sabrina are there to help. 
> 
> The ship is in stormy waters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have adapted Brigida/Brigid / _Imbolc_ , which is a Celtic feast linked to the beginning of spring and takes place on 1 February, to the needs of this story. Here it is a women's only occasion and lasts from the eve of that day to that of the next day.
> 
> Changing PoVs.

It is a sweet-faced angel who opens the door. Angels' voices can be heard somewhere in the background. There is a wonderful smell of incense and pine, and, yes, beeswax, ascending from the cleanest floor they have ever come across in Greendale. The small figure clad in white, barefoot, and with a halo of soft blond hair stares at them. Clearly someone else is being expected since her face registers surprise.

"Mom, Auntie," she hollers with a less than angelic voice, "there are three _men_ at the door." The way she says _men_ makes it clear they aren't welcome. This is not a Catholic home. 

Father O'Neil and Father O'Halloran brace themselves. This is going to be difficult. Father Cavendish, leaning onto his stick, continues to wish that the Holy Mother Church's way of dealing with sinners in their own ranks hadn't become so, so _Protestant_ , for want of a better term. He isn't looking forward to the quasi public confession his brethren are forcing him to make. Ah well, it will not be long and he will be able to do what he really came for.

It is the scary man eater one who comes to the door, placing herself between them and the child. Her eyes open wider for a short moment, and then her expression is all professional politenes, as can be expected from a co-owner of the Spellman Mortuary. Her smile doesn't bode well, though. She obviously knows who and what they are, and that it is unusual that there are three of them at her door. 

"Fathers. I thought we had agreed after Father O'Neil's recent visit that some Greendale homes aren't in need of personal pastoral care. And don't appreciate requests for _charitable_ donations for the _missions_ either. In case you are here for business, you will have seen at the mortuary entrance that we are closed for a family occasion for a few days. You will have to go somewhere else or return on Wednesday. Good day to you, gentlemen." 

She's about to close the door, when Father O'Halloran stops her by putting one of his shiny black boots forward. As his foot touches the threshold, his toes start tingling as if he had stepped on an electric wire. Maybe he has. 

She raises an eyebrow. Her smile has frozen.

Father O'Halloran withdraws his foot.

"Ms. Spellman. Father Cavendish here has something to give back to your family and a confession to make. It cannot wait since he will hold his last mass here tomorrow, at Candlemass, before he retires and leaves this parish. He should do so with a clean heart. If you don't want him to do this right here and now, you'd better ask us in."

***

Zelda considers the three men before her, one young, one middle-aged, one who looks as if he was in his nineties. Ah yes, the old parish priest. Cavendish. None are meeting her eyes. Father Cavendish seems especially shifty. Something's wrong here. She considers the female members of her family and of the various covens, who are assembling in her house, and the choir practising tonight's unholy hymns. She considers her daughter, who is clinging to her and has her head buried in the folds of her skirt. She considers the time of the day, and who else is still to arrive.

"I have a full house," she says, "so we'd better use the mortuary." She grabs a coat and a key and turns to her daughter. "Sweetie pie, be a good girl and tell Auntie Hilda and your cousin Sabrina to meet me in the mortuary. There's some family business these gentlemen wish to discuss with us. And then wash the threshold, honey, okay, just as we did before, sweety."

On the way to the outside entrance of the mortuary, Zelda catches a quick glimpse of Hilda's and Sabrina's faces in an upstairs window of the house. She surreptitiously nods in the direction of the three priests who are accompanying her. She hopes the two other female members of the Spellman family council understand what she is trying to signal and hurry up.

***

After a morning and half a day of playing smooth music and making futile suggestions that they might find something more interesting to do than drink beers and play darts, Ambrose has resigned himself to the fact that there will be no orgy. Alack and alas, when it comes to fornication, the dude is a dud. Ambrose is more surprised than disappointed. Here is a descendant of the former High Priest, known to all and sundry as a confirmed advocate of carnal pleasures as a Satanic right and rite, and a brother to his fiery, passionate, hot-cold but always sexy Prudence, and it is strange that he should have turned out to be so..., well, so boring. Despite being in his mid-twenties, handsome, and raised in a mortal world that doesn't ask its young to keep themselves for the Dark Lord, or Lady, the young warlock quite obviously is a virgin, and quite clearly not as keen on getting laid as Ambrose would have been in his stead. His response to the carefully chosen pieces of _art_ displayed on the walls of their party cellar has been to blush furiously and then avoid looking at any of the depicted scenes of gods, nymphs and nereids disporting themselves in all possible combinations. From his reaction, Ambrose has also deduced that if the warlock chose to be debauched at some stage he would definitely want to be debauched by a witch and not by a warlock, or, as they had hoped, by two of them. He briefly considered charming his way past the young warlock's prejudices or suggesting to Browney he should take matters in hand but then decided he couldn't be bothered. Also, he doesn't know what it is about the young warlock, but Ambrose is beginning to find his incessant smiling slightly unnerving. 

When Browney goes to bed, Ambrose is tempted to hand the young warlock a book and follow his partner upstairs. But since Aunt Zelda has charged him with not letting the young warlock out of his sight until the festivities of Brigida are truly over and school has started, he settles back down on his barstool. He hasn't felt as aged in decades. 

"How about a game of Ur or draughts, for a change, now there's only two of us, brother?"

Peter smiles his consent. 

This, Ambrose thinks, will be a long evening and night.

***

Just as Hilda and Sabrina are about to make their way to the mortuary, one of the witches from another coven needs help with her dress, another has misplaced her unholy prayer book somewhere, and, finally, the doorbell rings three times. This time it is Cassandra who opens the door, and calls for her mother or her aunt, to come quickly. It is the delegation of _The Sorrowing Sisters of the Slain_ , and Hilda hurries back to the door to welcome them to the Spellman house. The title _sisters_ is a honorific because the group does not only consist of the sisters but also of the widows, daughers and mothers of the warlocks murdered by their high priest. The female members of the Machen, Lovecraft, Bierce and Barker families who are still members of the Church of Lilith, have special status; the elders among them belong to the Church's New Council; the younger women are among the head girls at the Unseen Academy. Hilda can sense the group's mood shift from polite expectation to disappointment as soon as the witches realize that they are not being greeted by their High Priestess but by her apostate sister, who may attend coven meetings but has declined to force her half-mortal daughters join the Church. From the faces they make Hilda gathers that they may even think that they are being slighted. This is not helped by the fact that _Anastasia Doe_ has also come to the hall. The witches openly stare at her. This is awkward, to say the least, and a moment that Zelda has been agonizing over for the past fortnight. How would the relatives of the coven members slain by the twins' father respond to their return? There would be a ceremony at their prayer house on the next Sabbath, but Zelda had planned to let them see the girl first, on the theory that as a witch she was less threatening than her warlock twin. Hilda has had to listen to Zelda's plan how to best introduce each Sorrowing Sister to the young woman so often that she could have said the words herself. She knows that coming from herself they would be meaningless. 

While she still wonders what exactly to say or do, the new coven member takes the initiative.

"Hello," she says, with that bright smile on her face that she has been wearing since Hilda first set eyes on her. "I am new here. I'm Prudence Blackwood's sister. Maybe you know her. You can call me Nasty." And, with that broad smile of hers, she stretches out her hand, to Old Mother Lovecraft, of all people. Mother Lovecraft, who has only recently conceded that, maybe, there was nothing Zelda could have done to stop the atrocity. The hand is not taken.

Hilda smiles her broadest, most welcoming smile, and prays to Lilith or whoever may listen, that Sabrina will be back with Zelda soon. 

"Sisters. Please do come in and forgive us for not being quite ready yet to receive you as we were hoping to do. You know how it is with little children in the house. Please do come in and join those of the coven who have already arrived in the parlour for some nice tea as we get ready for the night. Sister Anastasia Doe will lead the way; isn't it amazing how much like her dear departed mother she is, Sister Barker. Constance would be so proud of her finding her way home to where her mother lived, I think, and doesn't she look like like her, too. Both so, so, so tall. Please, my dears, you can give your coats, oh, Sabrina there you are, you can give your coats to my niece. You all remember Sabrina, don't you? (Where's Zelda, Sabrina?) Please do come along, my dears and make yourself quite at home."

Sabrina's pale face tells Hilda something is wrong. But there is no way around it, the _Sorrowing Sisters_ have to be made a fuss over, or they will never hear the end of it. In the best case. 

Only Sabrina keeps pulling her cardigan, and trying to move her in the direction of the mortuary. Right, it is time for Hilda to channel her older sister. Chin up.

"Right, ladies. Here we have Selena and Irene, whose pleasure it will be to look after your every wish. Girls, tea, to begin with. And, ah yes, Sister Dorcas, what a hellsend you are. If you could maybe, ahem, lead in a hymn or an unholy prayer or two, to get us started until the High Priestess can take over. Yes. If you excuse me for a little moment. And Nasty, maybe you could help Anna Evanora here", and she reaches out to another one of her nieces and digs her fingers into the girl's shoulder in the same way Zelda used to when she needed her little sister to do something, "yes, if you could help Anna Evanora here," another squeeze, " to make sure we have enough food ready, in the kitchen, yes, in the kitchen, my dear. And Anna Evanora," another squeeze, "will remind you where the kitchen is. And show you everything there. So, ladies, girls, please excuse my niece and I for a moment." 

She glances at Sabrina, who looks pale and disturbed, and nods at her. "Let's go."

Just before they reach the steps down to the mortuary, Hilda stops Sabrina in her track. Best not to rush in if it is not clear what they are rushing towards.

"What is it, Sabrina? What happened? Is Zelda alright?"

"Yes, Auntie Hilda, she is; she's probably still in shock but she is alright. However, she is adamant nothing male born of a female can be inside any building on our familiy's grounds at _Imbolc_ , since we are hosting the festivities, not even a spot of blood, or a speck of ash. So before sunset, we have to help her clean up."

***

Ambrose is surprised how much easier it is to get on with the young warlock once he has accepted that the conversation is a one-sided one. Indeed, Peter is a quite good listener. As long as the carnal pleasures aren't mentioned, the young warlock listens intently as Ambrose shares tales of his wayward past. Maybe, Ambrose decides, the young warlock is just shy. Maybe he misses his twin, who has been whisked off to the Spellman house for the festivities. No warlocks allowed. It is his, Ambrose's responsibility, as the much older warlock, to make sure that Peter feels welcome. If he can do so by leaving out the more salacious details of many an encounter, so be it. Having a younger, more innocent warlock's attention on him, as he shares adventures that may or may not have taken place in the way he tells them, is actually quite lovely. Especially since Peter now and then nods in a way that seems to indicate his appreciation of the older warlock's attention. His brown eyes are quite beautiful, with a depth to them and a melancholy that are quite unusual. It strikes Ambrose that it is actually Peter, who is the doe like of the twins. His eyes are like deep pools that a warlock might want to lose himself in.

It occurs to Ambrose that maybe, if he stops talking, he may try and drown himself in those beautiful eyes and die a slow and delicious death. He leans towards the young warlock, who also does not seem disinclined to breach the distance between them. Ambroses's lips are nearly close enough to brush the young warlock's when Peter leans back abruptly. His eyes have lost all expression. His lips are still smiling.

"It seems an awful waste," he says. And falls silent, with a silence that is like a stone dropping to the bottom of an ocean.

Ambrose is not sure what he is talking about.

"Men with men, I mean", the young warlock says. "Or women with women. What's the point? Surely the point must be to procreate. So why waste time and energy?"

Ambrose is quite shocked. Before he got together with Prudence he would never have seen the point of procreation. He loves his, Prudence's and Browney's little family, but it cannot be denied that having daughters has come to him very late in his very long life, and still feels more like a lucky accident than something that could be called the point of his existence. 

After another long silence, Peter says, "No offence I hope. It's not that I think it is an abomination like our father did. Our adoptive father that is. I mean, I don't know anything about our real father. So I don't know what he thought or what kind of man he was."

Another pause.

"Noone seems to want to mention him." Another smile that does not reach the young warlock's eyes.

Ambrose sighs, gets up, and returns with two glasses of Bourbon, one of which he firmly places in front of Faustus Blackwood's son. Then he proceeds to relate to him the _Abbreviated but Accurate Version of the Life and Times of One Father Faustus Blackwood, erstwhile Scholar, Dean, Headmaster, High Priest, Father Figure, Church Reformer, Acting Anti-Pope, Last of the Blackwoods, Master Manipulator, Misogynist, User, Abuser, Murderer, and Traitor of the Covenant as Observed and Lived Through by A Witness_.

It _is_ the beginning of a long night indeed.

***

When Sabrina and Hilda enter the mortuary, Zelda is puffing her fifth cigarette. Ashes have dropped into the pool of blood at her feet, and some flakes are stuck to the blood on her clothes and in her hair. Her face feels sticky. She isn't even bothering to hide that she is both upset and annoyed. It is getting close to the time the _Sorrowing Sisters_ are due, and she will have to take care of this, and the other matter that came up, and wash off all the blood, and get changed into clean clothes, and then go and yell at the warlock who doesn't deserve anything she has ever done for him, and then get back to an unholy mindset for the ceremony. Not only is this really an inconvenient time in terms of tonight's festivities, she must make sure that the rest of Greendale gets an innocent explanation or this will be a disaster. Bless these idiots; what a time to come and make grand gestures, and entirely futile ones, at that. Males and their entirely useless ways of proving something to themselves or the world. Males and their boundless egos. She sighs with relief when she sees her sister and her niece. At least Hilda and Sabrina are here to help with this. How she ever thought that being High Priestess would mean that she could sort everything herself is beyond her these days. When she sees the troubled look on Hilda's face, she tries to appear calm and collected. "Not to worry, Hilda, I'm fine."

Hilda's face says it all. "What did you _do_ , Zelds? Did they annoy you?"

"I'm not annoyed; I'm livid. But I didn't do anything, Hilda. We don't have much time for explanations, but in short, that one," Zelda points her toe at the body of Father Cavendish before her, "apparently stole women's and witches' underwear from clotheslines, including, as it turns out, mine, when he was a young parish priest at the Church of Our Lady, which was discovered now that he was about to retire. If you care to look there, on the desk, you will see some of my lace panties and silk stockings that you thought the wind had carried off, the ones you had marked with our family's name and my intitals, as you did to all of our clothes, in case we were travelling and needed anything washed in a hotel. Remember I thought it was Faus..., well never mind. These two," and she nods at the two bodies with contorted faces and limbs sprawled over the Spellman Mortuary desk, "wanted him to return our family's property, and apologize and make amends by offering up _indulgences for our souls_. In his name and the name of the Holy Church. As if having my panties and stockings returned to me by three strangers was a good thing. Apparently he was then supposed to ask his own parishoners for forgiveness, for this and other transgressions, involving fraud and theft, and profess the power of redemption through the False God's love but he had other ideas. Apparently, when he was quite new to the parish, he was caught lurking around our house by Edward, and, for some reason, Edward counseled him and discussed his transgression and its meaning. And apparently that became a regular thing and a friendship among _colleagues, brethren in profession if not faith_ , developed, not only with Edward but it also," Zelda feels bile rising in her throat when she thinks of this, "continued with Edward's successor. And neither our dear brother nor ..., well never mind, well neither of them ever thought to consider that maybe, just maybe, befriending a stranger who stole your sister's or your ..., well never mind, _my_ underwear and has been making a habit of wearing it should not .... Anyway, apparently, when he was younger, he discussed the tenets of our Church with both Edward and ...; each aparently trying to _convert_ the other. and now, after all these years, that cretin decided that, rather than confess to being a pervert and thief to his own parish, he'd finally change faith and bring his problems here. Apparently poisoning these _holy priests_ before they tell anyone else about his transgressions is pleasing to _our_ Dark Lord. And now there is a fucking man's fucking blood all over me because he decided he'd end it all in a grand gesture, with an unholy self-sacrifice, on this evening of all evenings, and this place is a mess, and the house is filling up and I need to take care of the ceremony, and..." Zelda realises that she has difficulties breathing, and slows down. If she is not careful she will say too much. She hopes she has not said too much already.

Her sister is reaching out for her. Zelda would love to just let her take her in her arms and cry for a bit, but she knows there is no time. "Don't touch me Hilda, or you'll have to wash. I'll be fine. We can't afford to lose much time over this, this,...," she looks for a word, "this idiocy." She takes a deep breath. "Apart from our festivities, there's also their parish to consider. We can't be seen to be involved in any of this, or we'll get blamed."

The three of them stare at the three bodies that so obviously have not died of natural causes.

"Right, first get rid of bodies and any traces, then agree on a story." Zelda and Hilda say, as if in one voice.

"Aunts," they hear Sabrina say in response. Then she is silent and looks at them expectantly.

After a moment of silence, they say, "Yes, dear?"

Sabrina smiles enthusiastically, "Don't you agree?" She is obviously proud of herself.

Zelda looks at Hilda but her sister seems as confused as she herself is. "With what, Sabrina?"

It is Sabrina's turn to look confused but then she laughs, despite the circumstances. "I said ants not aunts, Aunties. Ant workers are voracious eaters and they are all female. And I know just the spell to call a few colonies in, have them devour all male particles and then leave this place in pristine condition. And then I'll do a quick cleaning spell. Worry no more about this, I've got it covered. This is fun. Just like the old days. And you, Auntie Hilda, should look after the house and the guests and make them drink more tea and seduce them into sharing some more gossip, while you, Auntie Zelda, get cleaned up. I cannot only take care of this place, I can also ask Prudence and Agatha to come with me to Riverdale in the Fathers' car, park it there and catch the next train. We'll be wearing a glamour, so everyone will think it is the creep and his pals, not us. Oh yes, and I'll give their housekeeper a call from the station to say they were called away all of a sudden. If money was stolen, that would explain why they left, but we can look into that later. I'll tell Prue and Agatha the priests came here to bring us religion and patriarchy by demanding you surrender the coven to the will of the False God before dusk or something, and that you took care of them, Auntie Zelda, in the name of Lilith. It'll be really good for your reputation. And surely, you would have, had they done that. And in an hour and a half or so, we'll be ready to start the festivities. Why didn't I think of this straight away? I shouldn't even have bothered you earlier, Auntie Hilda."

She gives Hilda a hug and blows a kiss in Zelda's direction. "Off you go, dear aunties, and leave this one to me."

***

Father Cavendish's is not the only cut throat in Greendale that day. _Dorian Gray's Room_ is open as a gentleman's club for that night, and, earlier, the chef has slashed the throat of a black goat so he can make the blood pudding and the roast so beloved by the warlocks who will attend. There will be the traditional _Imbolc_ lamb stew, too, but most warlocks prefer the more Satatnic goat to the unholy lamb.

As the witches of Greendale are assembling in the Spellman home to celebrate the feast of Brigida in the Greendale style, the warlocks left behind in their homes are looking forward to an old stlye night without women. Some of them will simply indulge in some mortal habits and watch sports on their own, or together with whoever is left of their family units once the witches have gone off to have their fun. Fathers with sons, brothers with brothers. Others will meet in groups and indulge in hobbies witches have no understanding of. In Father Blackwood's time that was a much more common practice, and warlocks got together on a much more regular basis. Indeed, warlocks banded together into secret societies for a variety of reasons, to pursue their religious, social, political interests, to hone their physiques, to get drunk or to have their minds expanded by select substances. The Judas Boys was one of many, if maybe the most elite, of these groupings, many but not all of which disbanded after the High Priest disappeared. While the regime change meant that those warlocks who survived the _Atrocity_ and stayed with the coven have been lying low in general, such meetings of warlocks still happen, if less openly and less frequently. Those warlocks who rejected the Ascension of Lilith as heresy and split from the Church of Lilith to form the _Original Church of Night_ , the _Reformed Church of Night_ , or the _Secret Society of Satan_ have their own societies. 

On this night, members of all covens mix, in the official festivities held by Zelda for all witches who care to join, and in the inofficial parties held all across Greendale by the warlocks. Whatever the purpose of these get togethers is, one thing happens in each and everyone of them: gossip. Gossip by witches. Gossip by warlocks.

It is thus that the word is spread among the warlocks of Greendale that the spawn of Blackwood have found their way back to their town. 

Some warlocks are happier about this news than others.

***

Zelda is touched, and slightly ashamed at how good it feels to let Sabrina take care of this situation. And poor Hilda, who, once more, will have to do more than her share, while Zelda is otherwise occupied. And yet, Zelda thinks, otherwise occupied she must be. She needs to wash and clean herself. And although _Imbolc_ is about to start, she must make sure she has not misunderstood what she has heard and seen. Even thinking about what it was that her brother and Faustus were up to for so many years makes her seethe with anger. It disgusts her on so many levels to think what has been done with the panties and stockings lying on the desk but she picks them up anyway. Once more the carefully mended lace catches her attention. She recognizes the neat stitching, and can make a good guess why the lace needed to be mended, and it breaks her heart. After she has flung her panties and stockings into Faustus's face and made him suffer, she will see to it that they are burnt to cinders, and after that, she will not ever let anyone, least of all him, touch anything she is wearing, or indeed her. She would kill him if she could. She would kill Edward if she could. What with the Spellman name and her initials clearly readable, there is absolutely no way her brother and Faustus did not know whose underwear that pervert had taken, or, worse, whose underwear they were providing him with, which is what she thinks also must have happened. She is all for fornication and carnal pleasures as a means to an end, but there is a limit. Letting a perverted priest play with _her_ underwear is beyond the pale, as is playing sex games with that priest who is wearing her underwear, because what else can it mean that Faustus so obviously tore and mended the lace, just as he has done to so many of the lace and silk items she has worn over the years, with those long sharp nails of his scratching and tearing skin and fabric alike. She remembers the pleasure this gave her, the first time it happened and later, the lustful pain of his nails and the strange joy of watching the High Priest mend her stocking before they got dressed. It is agony to realize he was doing this with another person, probably still while they were already having sex. _Untouched_ , indeed.

As she marches across the yard, and through the woods, towards the coven's meeting house, her mind keeps replaying the moment when she realized there were two men dying in her mortuary, the moment when the old priest's expression revealed that he had been expecting this, and the moment when he started spouting his _confessiones peccatoris felicis_. A happy sinner, indeed, whose ramblings first seemed unbelievable until she understood the truth of what had been going on. That the _manifestationes domini obscuri_ he had been struggling with, physically as well as metaphysically, were indeed the two High Priests, and that he was talking to her because she was a Spellman, and, thus, according to an understanding he had arrived at under Faustus's tutelage, a _meretrix Satanai_ , a devil's whore, which he apparently had taken to be a honorific, akin to his church's _Holy Virgin_ , rather than the slur that it so obviously was. Again and again, she hears that creature profess his allegiance to the Dark Lord, and feels his claw reach for her ankles as he prostates himself before her. She nearly grabbed her hammer and killed him there and then, and part of her regrets that she didn't. Because when he recovered from the kick she gave him, which he took for some form of proper response from one so close to Satan, he called out to the manifestation of Satan, _o frater, amice ac sacerdos profane!_ , to come through the walls of this earthly cell, and honour him with his presence once more, as he had done now for three-score-and-ten years, to witness his conversion and most unholy self-sacrifice. And then he slit his throat. And Zelda keeps living through that moment when his blood splattered all over her, again and again, as her feet take her to her church.

As she stands under the shower in the small bathroom next to her office and washes the priest's blood off her hair and her body, tears start rolling down her face. The cold water has cleared her mind but her head is hurting and her heart is sore. She is so exhausted. And she has just been hit by the realization what the words she heard before that creep killed himself mean. What Faustus has been up to for years right under her nose. 

***

Faustus is disoriented when he opens his eyes. Just a moment ago, he was standing in a study and slightly surprised at finding it empty and stripped of any personal items rather than occupied by the man he has been visiting for seventy years now. He had been looking forward to their discussion of the role of Lucifer in _Ezekiel 28_. Now he is lying on his bed, with a bloody nose. He is always careful to pick the days when he can astral project to visit Cavendish. He only does so when he knows Zelda to be somewhere else, just as today she is supposed to be at her home and hosting the witches of the coven in the celebrations of Brigida the Witch. Instead she is here, in his room, and obviously, she has just called him back by punching his face. For some reason he cannot fathom he is covered in flecks of burnt fabric and ashes.

Zelda looks incredibly beautiful in her anger. Unfortunately, it is not the hot anger that so often has led them to the most delicious kind of make-up sex. Instead, she oozes that icy-cold fury that he has only ever seen her display once before in his life. It was not a good time. He had hoped never to see her like that again.

"I was under the misapprehension," her voice is icy, too, "that you and I had an agreement. I obviously was mistaken. You can leave, astral project anywhere you like, or stay, I don't care. I have sworn an oath, so as long as you reside under this roof, you will be housed, fed, and taken care of. But this will be done for my own sake and not yours. That is all I have to say to you."

On her way out, she turns back, once.

"Oh, yes, one last thing. Congratulations. You have just achieved a conversion. Unfortunately you seem to have forgotten to mention to your _friend_ that hell is ruled by Lilith these days. So that cutting your throat for the greater glory of Satan may not have been the fool-proof get-into-the-best-part-of-hell card it seemed. "

She closes the door, carefully, and he listens for her voice. Normally she will speak a locking and protection spell.

Faustus sits up and stares at the door. So Cavendish converted and died? Committed suicide? It seems unlikely somehow but not impossible. Sad, actually. He seemed a bit withdrawn lately. The death would explain the empty study. But then the priest was over ninety. Was it a sign of Cavendish losing his mental capacity that he ended taking literally what was theological banter and of no practical use? Surely Cavendish must have realized that neither the False God nor Satan were what their scriptures described them, and that scriptures were there to be bent to the purpose of the needs of the churches they were written for. How could the man have been a priest if he took the scriptures literally? Surely their conversations were more philosophical or existential than theological... Especially since Cavendish had repeatedly stated his disbelief in Faustus's actual presence, since he was not able to touch him.

Faustus brushes off the ash and flecks of burnt fabric; his fingers catch one bigger piece, and he realizes that this it used to be a black silk stocking. He wonders how the stocking ended up burnt, whether this was one Cavendish used to wear, which would make it one of Zelda's when she was a younger witch, and a bit careless where she left things.

Then it hits him, like a hammer, or a plane crash, that whatever happened to his old friend and these stockings, something more monumental has just happened to him. He remembers Zelda's cold fury, the way she looked at him but did not shout, and that walk out of the door. The way she did not slam that door. The way she did not lock that door.

Faustus Blackwood has just lost his wife. Again. And even though he is sure he could explain himself, this time he is not sure he will get a chance. But he will have to try.

***

Zelda is nearly back at the Spellwood house but she has been taking the long route. She has been unsuccessful at not crying. If she could, she would not go back at all, she feels that cold and miserable. She knows he has not had sex with the man since she locked him in underneath the church; that isn't what makes her feel the way she does. It isn't even the panties and stockings. It is the betrayal of his pretending to be hers, hers as her husband, as her co-priest and a member of her flock, of being equals, with thoughts and ideas to share, while he was providing counsel for and seeking counsel from that idiot of a priest, not only before but recently, now, continuously. For _three-score-and-ten years_. With all the secrets and taboos that have been necessary, she was a fool to think there could be a true foundation for their marriage except that he needs her to keep him safe. Well, he can have that, but she will not give any more of herself to him. Herself belongs to herself now. And she will get used to being herself without him, one day at a time.

***

He waits for her under the burnt tree. "Talk to me, Zelda."

She walks past him and continues to walk towards her home, her sister, her nieces, her daughters. Their daughters.

He waits for her by the gate of the Spellman property. "Talk to me. Otherwise I will come in, no matter who is there, if you do not talk to me."

Blackmail is not a good starting point for any conversation. Also, she has already said what she wanted to say, earlier, under the church. If only his face did not have that look, the one Irene makes when she wants to borrow her fox fur stole although she has just worn and ruined her mother's favourite blouse. The one Claudina makes when she needs to be consoled for breaking Alice's favourite doll, which, it turns out, cannot be revived by a burial in the Cain pit. All her daughters have made that face at some stage, even Julia, who looks most like herself. 

She is so tired. "I have nothing else to say to you," she begins, but ruins it by adding his name, "Faustus."

"Zelda, please. I need you, Zelda."

"I know you do. Haven't I just said you will not want food or shelter or care?" She has made another mistake by responding. She should just have walked on. It is too late now. "I don't have time for this, Faustus." His name again. Every time she says his name, he looks hopeful. She really hates him. 

"Zelda, please. That's not what I mean. I need _you_. Satan, I need you _happy_. I don't know why exactly you are upset but whatever I have done it was not done to hurt you. At least not anything I did these past ten years. Zelda, please."

This is unchartered territory for him. He has never used the word "please" so often in one conversation, or at all, except ironically. These days they normally communicate about personal issues with carefully phrased irony, or by implication, and hardly ever directly. Until just now, he would have thought that they had learned to trust each other even if they did not trust words or themselves. And that both had their own secrets that they agreed to stay away from. Cavendish had been his, just one other person in his life, a brother in arms, a friend of sorts, someone he owed a debt of gratitude to, someone he had known for a long time who still was talking to him. It is his fault, not doubt, that his existence has shrunk so, to one friend and one wife, and the awareness that there are children, daughters who must be his to ensure that he does not entirely disappear from this world, which once felt like his for the taking. And recently, he has not given his brother in arms much thought, or obsessed about how many daughters were his, among the babes brought to him by Zelda, because increasingly, Zelda has become his world. She cannot take herself away from him. She just can't.

Zelda feels they have been here before. She has allowed herself to hope and she has been disappointed. She has not even had time to fully comprehend why she feels so betrayed but she knows she does.

"I really, really don't have time for this, Faustus."

He feels they have been here before. He has allowed himself to trust that she will be his and he has been disappointed. He does not even know why she won't. He is still a powerful enough warlock that he could force her, bind her, and for a brief moment he is tempted to repeat his original sin, and make her take time, and do as he wishes. But there are decades between then and now, and he _has_ changed, especially since he has learnt how little stands between him and the _there_. He will never let himself go again to an extent that will endanger her and the people she cares about. Even if that means that he is alone. Even alone, he will continue to follow what he has understood to be his Satan-given duty, to serve this witch and his destiny as best he can. 

For a moment, his expression and posture scare Zelda but when that moment has passed, he just looks a bit deflated.

"Fine," he says. 

"Fine," she says. 

A strand of her hair is escaping from under her cap. It breaks his heart that the way they are now he cannot reach out and put it back where it belongs.

"You'd better go," he says. 

She does not know why she says what she says next, except maybe that she feels worn down by all the lies of ommission and secrets they have deemed necessary.

"The twins did not die. They're back in Greendale. With Prudence, who found them, and who is in town. And they've joined the coven. It's early days so we have to see how all that goes." She sees his eyes widen and colour drain from his face. She is sure that she has not shared this information to take revenge or to goad or hurt him but it still feels right to see that he knows that did not trust him enough to tell him about this earlier. And that she has now stopped caring what he might think or do. "And unless you yourself want to be found, you'd better get back to the church. Or wherever."

She should simply go on home now. But for some blessed reason, she can't. She used to be so in charge, of herself, her feelings, her family, her church, and here she is, when all is said that can be said, and she still cannot find the will to open that blessed gate and walk through it. Faustus, too, seems disinclined to go anywhere anytime soon. He has not moved or spoken, and looks old and drained. She cannot take her eyes off him. She remembers the last time when a child was returned to him whose existence she had hidden from him. His stillness then was the calculated silence before of the calculated storm of violence, a power move, which would rid him of the Spellman traitor. This time his stillness is different, genuine. She wishes she could forget about everything and just step closer to him and do something. Kill him dead and bury him and raise him from the dead. Take him into her arms. Instead she curses the most profane of curses.

He cautiously raises an eyebrow.

"For fuck's sake, Faustus. Go away. This is not safe. We are expecting witches from all over the province, and there are bound to be some that are late. It's dusk already, and _I_ am late. This is the night when witches and warlocks do not intermingle, and apart from that, you are still on most people's _most wanted criminals_ list. I can do without you being torn from limb to limb tonight, or me, for that matter, for aiding and abetting. Go back, and rest, read, or do whatever else it is you do. We'll get through this. We always do."

She finally opens the gate, closes it behind herself, and walks up to the house without turning round once.

He watches her receding back with a sense of relief. While _this_ , whatever _this_ is, hasn't exactly been resolved, he knows that she will not go back on her word. They are in _this_ together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imbolc: 1 February – first day of spring in the Celtic calendar, St Brigid, <https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Imbolc>
> 
> As always, I love responding to your questions and comments.


	10. Getting Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zelda gets ready to be High Priestess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short in-between chapter since I am still busily writing the next, longer one.

As she opens the back door to the mortuary, Zelda wishes she could just crawl into bed and sleep. Or die. She is that tired. But then she sees the festive dress and robes someone - Hilda?, Sabrina? - has laid out carefully on the steel slab, and she feels a surge of energy. She can do this. She is High Priestess, Mother of the Coven and Head of the Spellmans. Thank S-, Lilith, she has been doing this for long enough, and she is dressed in minutes. 

Sabrina and her ants have done a fantastic job. The room is spick and span, the surfaces are gleaming, and there is no trace of what happened here earlier. In the tiny, narrow washroom her thoughtful sister —yes it definitely was Hilda— has placed Zelda’s make-up travel bag in front of the small mirror, together with the crown and a brush, a comb and a little bowl with hair needles, rubber bands and ribbons. And her cigarette holder and a packet of _Stuyvesants_ , Lilith curse her. A cigarette later, Zelda has washed her face and eyes, and is putting her _Priestess of the Darkest Night_ face on, with extra black mascara, eyeliner and blood red lips. She looks like a ghost that has fallen in with a freakish Vaudeville Burlesque show. It'll have to do. 

Zelda lights another cigarette to steady her nerves. Then she decides to take a quick look at what is going on in the house, just to see what is expecting her. As always, the image isn't very clear, there is no sound, and she needs to squint to make out who is who. Ah yes, there is Mother Lovecraft chatting with Hilda over a cup of tea. So the _Sorrowing Sisters_ have arrived. She scans the room, and all there seem relaxed enough. Relieved, Zelda wipes the mirror. All seems well. She begins to brush her hair.

Her hairdo is a simple braid, which she fixes around her head, a nest ready to receive her crown. Not as intricate or beautiful as she has got used to wearing, but it will do, she thinks, as she glances into the mirror. The mirror. After a moment's hesitation, she gives in to temptation, painful as even thinking of him may be. She just needs to know they will be uninterrupted this night, she tells herself. She wipes the mirror anti-clockwise once more and speaks the three words, quietly, under her breath. She can make out his shape but has no clear view of his expression. There he is, sitting on his bed, calmly embroidering, mending something she can't quite make out. Gold thread is glinting in the candlelight. A potent mix of white-hot anger and helplessness surges up in her, and, bless it, longing. What's wrong with her? Why is it she who cannot let go when he so obviously has returned to his normal unperturbed self? Why is it she who feels imprisoned when he is the one in the cell? This is useless, she thinks, wiping the mirror until the image dissolves and disappears. How many times, when she should have been doing something else, has she checked on him like this before? And how many times was he lying there, with a book next to him, apparently contemplating some issue but quite likely projecting himself to that horrid pervert... No, she can't allow herself to think of this any more tonight, although she will have to, eventually. Now isn't the time. Which she knew before she looked. Zelda's eyes sting, but she forces herself to let go of her anger, her pain, and her longing. No more tears tonight. It is high time the proper festivities of Brigida the Witch started.

As often when she needs to focus, she silently speaks the names of her daughters, in the order of their births. Her own coven. The mothers of future grandchildren. Her babies. _Antonia Beneventa. Toni._ Who may or may not have decided to join them tonight but may well do so because, after all, it is her beloved aunt's birthday. Toni. Who got married to a mortal woman, whom they have not even met, in a Buddhist ceremony, half a year ago, without even telling her mother. Zelda pulls herself together, and starts again. With Toni's name because whatever her daughter has decided to think of her, whether or not she rejects her as her mother, she will always be her eldest, her most difficult and, maybe, her most beloved daughter. Or, if she is honest, second most beloved, because she cannot help but always put Julia first, the one child who so obviously is her own. Although she loves them all, each and every one of them, dearly, more than anything or anybody else. Right. This is her own, most private of unholy prayers: _Antonia Beneventa. Selena Alys. Irene Nesta. Locasta Priscilla. Agnes Dido. Julia Vesta. Anna Evanora. Claudina Agnes. Cassandra Aradia. Alice Martha. Agrippina Bellicent. Ludovica Caterina._ She places her hand over her still flat belly, rubs it gently, and thinks of her unborn babe. Soon enough, in less than ten months, there will be another name to add to her litany, she hopes. May all of their joint prayers this night grant this wish. Then, as she puts the golden crown she was married in on her head, Zelda murmurs a _Hail Lilith, Mother of Demons_ , in the recital of which she will lead her family, her coven and her guests often tonight. She applies a final layer of liptstick and smacks her lips. The High Priestess of the Church of Lilith is ready for a night of unholy prayer, of song and of gossip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twelve daughters? 12??? And she isn't done yet? Indeed. Witches are an endangered species, as are Spellmans, so when you can, you procreate. And there is a church political dimension to this, too. Which will be part of the next chapter, which is taking me so long...


	11. A Long Day's Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of _Imbolc_ , as celebrated by the Greendale witches. Part 1. On the surface it is all prayers, celebrating the beginning of spring, and establishing the sense of female solidarity among witches. Under the surface, some witches are interested in futhering their own agenda. Others just want to get through the night. For Zelda and Hilda, it's a long day's night, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long to write. I hope some of you are still here and interested.
> 
> Just in case you haven't read this in a while, a short reminder:
> 
> This is still the same day that Zelda found Faustus in the throes of his "there" and saved him (chapter 8), that Zelda encountered the priest, who was Faustus's (and previously her brother's) (other) companion and confidant for decades before he committed suicide in front of her in some sort of Satanic sacrifice, which nearly ended Zelda's willingness to have anything to do with Faustus except for what she needs to do to keep her oath (chapter 9) and it is the first part of the festivities of _Imbolc_ for which Zelda was getting ready in chapter 10. A long day's night*, indeed. 
> 
> Many different poInts of view coming together here. 
> 
> *My apologies to The Beatles. Nothing to do with their wonderful number of the same title.

As the old saying goes, _Nox Brigidae nox veneficarum est_ , or, _The Night of Brigida is the night of the witches_. 

The Spellman house is brim full and nearly bursting with female energy. 

***

As the day has been turning into evening, witches of all ages and from different covens have been assembling in the Spellman home. So far they have been happy enough to be entertained with tea, snacks and gossip while they are waiting for the formal opening ceremony of the festivity. Some have joined the choir, and infernal tunes were audible in the background for a while. Some, more pious witches have formed small groups and are already mumbling unholy prayers; the largest of these groups is being led by Sister Dorcas. Other witches have brought straw, ribbons, fabric and other materials for the crown and doll making and are sorting these in the Spellman dining rooms. Little girls are running in and out of rooms, caught up in their own imaginary world. 

***

In the Spellman kitchen, the process of making more sandwiches, of brewing tea, and of putting cookies, candied fruit, spicy bugs and grasshoppers and other delicacies from jars onto plates is slightly hindered by Anna, Claudina and Nasty's presence. The sisters have been entertaining the newest witch in the coven ever since their aunt ordered Anna to take her to the kitchen. Claudina goes where her older sister goes, and so they have been showing the new arrival every single food item, utensil, and cookery book stored there. They have been hinting at gruesome and grizzly details of how to roast mortal children, how to distill death and other favourite culinary secrets from their mother's and aunt's stash of family recipes, while others have been ensuring none of the guests will have to go hungry or thirsty. 

Margaret, Hilda's eldest, is in charge of the tea urns, and, not for the first time in her life, wishes her mother was just a little less involved in her sister's Church. Margaret herself, who has chosen to live as a mortal, attended Baxter High and a community college and is currently in her first year of midwifery training, is only here because it happens to be her mother's birthday. Margaret is fond of Auntie Zelda, of course, and of her cousins, but has always found some of the witches who attend these celebrations downright scary. Since the _Great Imbolc Witches' War in Mother Spellman's Cabbage Patch_ four years ago, when Margaret was nineteen, some of Hilda's secret herbal infusion mix that calms down colicky babies and panicking expectant mothers alike has been going into the tea. Not too much, of course. As she fills yet another tea pot to be sent to the parlour, Margaret casts a suspicious eye at her young cousins going through the kitchen drawers. What are they up to? And the new member of the coven, what was her name, Nasty. She must be twenty-five or so, only a bit older than herself. Too friendly, too smiley, too interested in what a thirteen- and an eleven-year-old are showing her. Can't she see that another pair of hands would come in handy here?

***

In the nursery, most of the head girls and the youngest Spellmans are getting ready for the ceremony. Black dresses are brushed; white collars are straightened, and red, magenta and purple hair ties are bound. The older girls touch up their makeup, and dab a little rose coloured rouge on the cheeks of the three youngest Spellmans, who look pretty and innocent in their pink pinafores.

***

At fifteen, Julia Spellman greatly dislikes not yet being allowed to wear black to church ceremonies. At least she is not obliged to wear pink any more. She has done everything she can to make the grey outfit she and her mother agreed on as formal enough but not too grown up for Church look as wicked and disrespectful as possible. Earlier Hilda had to suppress a smile when she saw her niece 's interpretation of a suitable _Imbolc_ outfit and make-up. Despite everything she has done to what she is wearing, her Goth makeup and the cigarettes and the weed she thinks noone knows she is smoking, Julia has Zelda's iridescent beauty. Unlike Zelda, however, she is not aware of just how stunning she looks. Hilda has not seen her in a while, nor has she seen her own younger daughters. In all likelihood, Julia, Eve and Fiona and some of Julia's schoolmates, who may not be as religious as others here, are hiding out in that secret room in the attic that all Spellman teenagers discover as their own. Little do they know that generations of Spellmans made it theirs before they did, and that all Spellwood mothers have always been very well aware of what has been going on there since time immemorial. As she pours yet another cup of tea, Hilda suppresses a reminiscent smile. Whatever the girls upstairs are drinking, it won't be tea.

***

In the small attic room behind the door behind the Spellman family tree tapestry, a bottle and a joint are being passed around. Female voices emanating from the old record player demand respect, tell someone that they don't own them, claim that their boots are made for walking, ask whether they believe in magic, and, quite blasphemously on this evening, ask the Dark Lord for a Mercedes Benz.

Feeling slightly guilty, Julia decides to check what is going on downstairs. Instead of the buzzing of many voices, all she can make out from the top of the staircase is the voices of two of the elderly _Sorrowing Sisters_ and a few whispers. The ceremony must be about to begin. Eternal salvation, she and her friends are going to be late. No daughter of the High Priestess, no _Sorrowing Sister_ , and no head girl can be seen not to be present, or there will be heaven to pay. Without having time to make sure that they look presentable, Julia and her friends tear down the stairs. Fiona and Eve, who aren't officially members of the Church, stay behind. They'll join in the fun later, between the formal parts of the night.

***

Downstairs, a few older witches only stop in their conversations when most of the crowd has already quietened down. Mother Bierce turns around to shush Mother Machen and Sister Barker. Disrespect to the High Priestess is disrespect to all of them.

***

Hilda breathes a sigh of relief when she sees her sister emerge from the cellar. Zelda knows how to make an entrance, and the crowd's chatter dies down at the sight of the High Priestess, resplendent in full regalia. Well, maybe slightly less resplendent than usual but quite resplendent enough to get them all properly started for this night. There are a few matters Hilda will have to discuss with her sister before the night is over, and, as soon as there is time, she will seek her out, to have a chat, decide what should be done about Toni, and redo the High Priestess's hair. For now, Hilda is quite looking forward to the formal part of the ceremony. In the past hour, she has all but exhausted her capacity for tea and small talk.

***

Zelda knows herself to be a picture of poise, perfection and power. The High Priestess stands among her People, the witches who are her _familia_ , related to her by blood, faith, or choice. Tonight she leaves her puny personal problems behind and becomes the prism through which they can see and gain the plenty that _Brigida_ symbolises on _Imbolc_. As she takes her position, looks at the growing multitude trying to fit into her hall, and smiles, the buzzing noise of the crowd's chatter, which indicates their joyous anticipation of the night to come, dies down. A few shushing noises and an unholy silence envelops all. Zelda takes a deep breath. "Sisters. Welcome. It is the Night of _Imbolc_ In Which We Celebrate the Beginning of Spring, and You are Welcome to My House. Let Us Begin Tonight as Every Year With The Unholy Hymn of Our Patron Witch. May the Unholy Spirit of the Deepest Night and Brigida, Our Sister in Faith, Be With You," she intones. "And With You," murmur the most conservative of the crowd, in response. _Imbolc_ has officially begun. 

***

Sister Burrows raises her hands. The members of the choir, who have taken up their positions on the central staircase, behind the High Priestess, take a deep breath. Then the first of the unholy hymns they have been practicing all afternoon starts, sweetly, quietly, _dolce, pianissimo_ , then rising slowly but steadily, _poco a poco crescendo_ , to _forte, ma non troppo_ , all the time _affetuoso_ , with feeling: _Brigida, Our Sister, To Thee/We Look for Succour and Solace./As Winter Turneth Into Spring, /Bring Us Plenty We Beseech You_.

***

Although Prudence's view of organised religions has changed over the years, she is moved by the view of Mother Zelda, the representative of the Queen of Hell, ascending to the realm of witches and mortals and taking her place among them. If Aunt Zelda knows anything, it is how to make ceremonies seem meaningful and how to impress the unholy nature of rites and rituals on the hearts and souls of even the most doubting among the unfaithful. It takes Prudence some effort not to let the opening hymns suck her into a trance-like state of dark mindlessness. Not so long ago, she was a member of the choir and full of unholy fervour and ambition to rise as highly as she could. Well, the ambition has stuck with her. One day, Prudence thinks, it'll be she herself who will be first in what will be _her_ coven, but there will be no such pomp and circumstance. 

Prudence has never quite given up on the idea that, by rights of character and birth, it is she who should be High Priestess. Aunt Zelda has been so terribly old-fashioned in so many respects, and even if it may mean losing even more coven members, Prudence is convinced that the future of Lilithism lies in a much more radically feminist approach to questions of the faith and of church leadership. 

And yet, Aunt Zelda's latest feat of defending the coven against the priests of the Holy Church has quite impressed Prudence. Despite her middle-of-of-the-road stance in so many matters, Aunt Zelda has been a shield against any resurgence of that toxic masculinity cult Prudence's father subscribed to, _the bastard, may he rot in heaven, but not before she can put a knife into him for each coven member he made her poison_. 

Aunt Zelda will do as High Priestess for the time being, until Prudence has fulfilled those obligations she swore so publicly she would fulfill. 

Until she is ready to make her claim. 

Only when she has killed her father, in revenge, will she be considered worthy of leading the church of the One Who Overcame Satan.

Prudence prefers to see Lilith as the one who was responsible for what happened all those years ago, rather than all of them, or Zelda or Sabrina. She likes Sabrina more than she used to but finds her a weak character. After all Sabrina continues to focus on finding an entrance to hell for the sake of a mere warlock, sexy and handsome as that said warlock once was. For Prudence, this means that she has abdicated all claim to leadership. 

Prudence is glad of this. 

***

The second hymn is a simple one, in which the High Priestess herself sings the first part of the story of Brigida, and the choir and all assembled witches respond, again and again, with a simple verse of praise. Hilda both loves and hates this part of the night. Brigida's story is as moving as ever, her sister's voice is as beautiful as ever and a joy to listen to; however, the joint choir's and witches' response is less enjoyable. 

Much less enjoyable. More painful than enjoyable.

If only more of the older crones had Hilda's own good sense to know that their combined voices are more akin to those of a murder of crows upset about something and mime the words rather than join in. But alas, such self-knowledge seems beyond Mother Machen and Mother Bierce.

As her bladder calls attention to itself, Hilda wishes she had not drunk so much tea. Or had time to use the loo before Zelda started the ceremony.

***

As a former member of the choir, Prudence knows the responses by heart and sings without paying much attention. Instead, she keeps mulling over the issue of time. She knows there is only so much time she has if she wants to replace or succeed Zelda Spellman. Prudence's own professional obligations and her continuing search for the warlock whose whoring she owes her life to have meant that she has not been able to keep in touch with the local coven as much as maybe she should have had. It seems Aunt Zelda herself is quite popular, as is the Spellman family name these days. 

The Spellmans' popularity is not least due to the fact that the High Priestess has managed to sit on the fence on so many controversial issues while giving the impression of really being on the right side of the issue, whatever that might be. Also, she has had so many daughters to replenish the local stock of witches, which gives the family name strength. These days being connected to the Spellman name, directly or indirectly, is an honour. 

Politically speaking, Prudence's choice of the father of her first two daughters has proven a felicitous one. She and Ambrose are happy in each other, especially now that Browny has joined their partnership, to ensure they can have the variety of sexual pleasures they like to indulge in. That Ambrose is a Spellman is a bonus, really, but one that will come in handy when Prudence lays claim to what should be hers.

When she can reclaim the position of coven leader for the Blackwood family, she'll have to approach the relationship differently from Aunt Zelda, of course. Less motherhood, more sisterhood.

Prudence knows that she cannot beat Aunt Zelda at being mother to the coven: Her three pregnancies felt nearly too much for her, and she has no idea how Aunt Zelda can bear being continuously pregnant. However, her pregnancies have cemented her position as the mother of the coven, there is no doubt about it. There is no way Prudence can beat her at that. No, she'll have to be _Sister_ Prudence even as High Priestess. Yes, _prima inter pares_. All the Spellwood girls can be her sisters, as can be all the witches in her coven, and any witches who wish to join them, even Sabrina Spellman. She will be an unholy sister to them all, and they will choose to be hers when the day comes because they will already have seen what a good sister she can be. Starting with tonight, when her half-sister is going to be introduced to every witch that matters. 

***

The second hymn comes to an end. Relieved, Hilda finds her way from the front row to one of the bathrooms upstairs. Let them think what they want, a witch must relieve herself when she must. No doubt Zelda will hear all about it by one or the other of the most pious of the coven. Well, even if she misses the crowning and the first round of prayers of the night, she can check how Margaret is doing in the kitchen. Soon, the first part of the night will be over, and they will want to be fed again, as they make crowns and Brigida dolls, and the real purpose of the night, creating connections through gossip, resumes.

Also, as soon as the first formal part is over she needs to talk to Zelda, Hilda reminds herself. Immediately.

***

As every year the youngest witch in the house is crowned _Young Brigida_ , and it is she and the High Priestess who speak the first _Unholy Lilith_ and lead in first three rounds of unholy responses of the thornary of _Brigida's Curse on the Coven_ , before the making of the dolls and crowns starts. 

Selena approaches her mother with her youngest sister Ludovica in her arms. The toddler is clad in pink, with broken gold chains around her neck, to symbolise Brigida's status as an emancipated slave.

As every year, this is the perfect staging of an unholy trinity: the High Priestess, her second eldest, and her youngest daughters. Selena is holding Ludovica up to have her mother's unholy blessing. Zelda first kisses her youngest daughter's forehead, speaks an unholy blessing which is inaudible to the crowd, then places a wreath of straw on her golden locks, and takes her from Selena. Selena takes a step backwards, back into the group of Academy head girls whose official leader she is.

Together the High Priestess, who is the Mother of the Night, and her youngest, who is the Queen of this Feast, begin to lead the assembled witches into the first official round of prayers of the night. 

_Hail Lilith, Mother of Demons, Cursed be thy Name,..._

Of course, Ludovica is not quite old enough to get it all right, but that makes the prayer of mother and daughter even more touching to the assembled witches. They know what this prayer means. Lilith, the mother, is holding her child, her church. Brigida, the Witch, is holding her child, the community of all witches that have assembled. Zelda, the High Priestess and Mother of the Night, may be holding her biological child, but as the highest among all living witches, she is also holding each of them. Unholy blessings will come of this night for all of them. 

***

As Prudence automatically joins in the responses she knows by heart and no longer believes in, her thoughts turn to the many daughters Auntie Zelda has borne. So many Spellmans directly descended from the High Priestess. So many rivals.

Of course expectations are that either Selena or Irene will succeed Auntie Zelda when the time comes, and there are so many spares. They are young yet and not ready for leadership but if Prudence has to wait too long before she can make her claim, they may be strong contenders for the succession one day.

All of them really, except for poor Toni, the half-breed. Not for the first time, Prudence wonders whether her father knew about the pregnancy and whether that was what drove his hatred of witches. Not that she has any pity or respect left for the bastard but to be cuckolded on his own honeymoon and to have to see the result ... Prudence was not present at the High Priestess's public confession of her sins before she was officially crowned High Priestess but she can imagine the uproar Zelda's explanation of the birth of the poor bastard babe nine month after the wedding caused. Better for Toni to have been born a bastard though, Prudence thinks, or she might not have survived her infancy, despite her mother being the High Priestess, what with the _Sorrowing Sisters_ being so keen on revenge as they were in the first years. Why, she herself might have been lynched, had she not so obviously been hellbent on seeking vengeance for the murdered and nearly murdered members of the coven. Those first years after her father's fall were exciting but they were also quite dark.

Little, what's her name again, Ludovica is between 2 and 3 if she remembers correctly. Maybe it's time for another wee Spellman babe to be born in a year's time or so. Prudence wonders who it will be this time that gets chosen to spend the _Lupercalia_ in the High Priestess's company.

While noone _knows_ exactly who the fathers of Aunt Zelda's daughters are, there are rumours, of course. Well, about all but Toni's, who was an Italian train guard whose body ended up in a ravine in the Dolomites, she has heard. Gossip has it that all of Zelda's other daughters are in all likelihood related to one or the other of the more or less important families inside and outside the coven. Some families have taken special interest in some of Aunt Zelda's daughters, sometimes more than one at a time, and nothing has ever been confirmed. Prudence can't but admire Aunt Zelda's ability to have her cake and eat it. To be sure the office of High Priest has almost always come with a propensity towards philandering but Aunt Zelda's choice of sleeping around according to political necessity while, at the same time, taking the stance that the daughters of the High Priestess need no other parent, has been an amazing feat of keeping potentially warring factions at bay and upholding the supremacy of female fecundity over any other unholy principle. It has occurred to Prudence that the uncertainty of the bloodlines of the Spellman girls has strengthened the Spellman family name and that family's position. No wonder Auntie Zelda isn't so keen on gene testing. Nearly every important witch family has reason to believe that they may be related to the High Priestess's issue or that, if they are not yet, their turn may come. 

Except for the Blackwoods, of course, but then that name has lost its lustre. It seems unlikely Aunt Zelda would want to give any of it back by making her nightson the father of her next babe. Prudence remembers how squeamish she was about incest when it came up, and sleeping with a nightson seems to be nearly in the same category. It's a pity, really. Or maybe not.

***

Sabrina and Julia are standing in the second row, and both are making sure that they are being noticed as a part of the community by those around them. Both are actively listening, singing, praying but both are really only doing so because they know Aunt Zelda/mother will mind if they don't. Both wish they could withdraw to the roof of the Spellman home and have some time to themselves. Sabrina loves her family and has been proud to help out with the priest situation, but she also wishes she could now withdraw to read a little and think of Nick. Julia loves the hustle and bustle of the night but also cannot wait to get back to her comic book. There are only a few pages left to read, and the next volume has just come out, and is waiting to be started. Neither of the two is quite ready to give up on religion but both are sceptical, for different reasons, that it is Lilith or Brigida or any other female deity or witch in whose hands the world's destiny lies. Sabrina knows that if she lets herself go, it is her who can still destroy the world as it is known. Julia has recently decided that she does not believe in the superiority of any life form over any other, and that includes the superiority of witches over warlocks or mortals. And still, because they each love the witch and the toddler who are leading them in song and prayer, both Sabrina and Julia are participating in the community of unbelievers as much as they can.

***

Upstairs, Fiona and Eve are following their own _Imbolc_ ritual. 

As every year, they put on their favourite song. When they were small, their father used to play it for their mother on her birthday. Of course, it isn't his record, which was destroyed in the Great Fire ten years ago, as was their home and his life. Eve, who is more like her aunt Zelda than she cares to admit and has no qualms about taking something that belongs to someone else if it suits her, stole it from a schoolmate's house a few years ago. They keep it in this attic room, away from their mother's eyes and ears. They do not wish to hurt her. 

They do need to remember what it was like when they were still their father's princesses and their mother's birthday was not given up to their aunt's church. 

As every year, they start arguing about the meaning of the song. Was the lady who left her husband for a demon lover married to someone who was a carpenter, a house carpenter, or someone called Carpenter, from the House Carpenter. And does the song have a happy ending because the hills of heaven are avoided and the lovers end up in the hills of hell, or is it the other way around? As every year, they disagree whether the babe was lucky to have been left behind or not. By now, they do not really care about this issue any more but are enjoying the sisterly squabble. As every year, it is the elder sister who wins the argument by hiting her sister over the head with a cushion. While their ritual always begins with remembering their father, it always ends with Fiona and Eva negotiating who is the more powerful in their sibling relationship. And yet, it also confirms the love they bear each other.

If they only knew about it, both their mother and their aunt would approve.

***

Zelda is glad when the end of the first formal part of the night approaches. 

Ludovica is quite heavy to hold for such a long time. While she has been on her best behaviour and has been quite earnestly speaking the prayers with her mother, she is a toddler and cannot help wiggling and kicking now and then. Next year, Lilith wiling, she'll be holding a wee babe in her arms when saying the prayer. Unless it's a boy this time, but that seems unlikely after so many girls. 

***

After the last _Amen_ has been spoken by the congregation, Selena steps forward again, and takes her little sister from the High Priestess's arms. Zelda kisses them both, and intones a final, _Damnèd Be You All Who Are Here To Celebrate_. This is the signal for the crowd to disperse, some to queue for the bathroom, others to seek more tea and snacks, or wine or herbal water, others to get the best places to start with the making of the _Brigida_ dolls and crowns for the morning. 

The buzzing of laughter and chatter that follows the unholy silence is testament to the enjoyment the witches find in this part of the night.

***

Prudence looks around and wonders where her younger sister is. It is time she started introducing her to more than her extended family.

***

So far, Nasty has spent most of the first religious ceremony of her new church after her own baptism in the kitchen of her new High Priestess's house. The girls, whose name she has already forgotten, have moved on from showing and explaining food items, kitchen utensils and recipes to telling her the myth of Brigida, who seems to be some fertility goddess, and going into detail about what will happen this night, some kind of mix of social event, praying and creating some straw artefacts to be used in another ceremony the next day. Everything is new and interesting but also slightly frightening, especially the many strange witches she encountered earlier who cast strange looks at her and are now singing strange hymns and praying strange prayers. Not for the first time, she is wondering whether she has taken the right decision for herself and her brother. She misses her brother. They never used to spend so much time apart before they came here.

***

On the way to finding her sister and talking to her, Hilda encounters Fiona and Eve, who are coming downstairs to join in the fun of crown and doll making. Margaret sees them on the staircase and lets the provisions take care of themselves for a change in order to join her sisters and her mother in a big family hug.

"Happy birthday, Mum," they all whisper into Hilda's ear. 

"Let's go outside for a bit," Margaret adds. "We have wanted to show you our present all day." 

***

Zelda drinks the glass of water one of her students offers her before she starts slowly climbing up the stairs towards her bedroom. She will be happy to change into less formal clothes for the next few hours. Nothing less elegant, of course, but something less heavy than the embroidered robe. The _Dolce & Gabbana_ flower pattern costume she bought before she got married will do nicely. Her hair is coming slightly undone and will have to be redone. 

Maybe Hilda can help her with her hair. If Hilda can be found. She still needs to give her her present and congratulate her, Zelda remembers. The first edition she has been meaning to give her all morning but never found the time to.

What a long and difficult day this has been. If only she could just crawl into bed and sleep.

Everyhing has a price, she reminds herself. Everything has consequences. And being High Priestess comes with the price of going on, even if your heart and your feet are sore, and you are afraid to sit down or briefly close your eyes in case you fall asleep.

Zelda sighs and takes another step.

***

Outside the Spellman home, a pink scooter is parked next to the Spellman Mortuary van, with an orange helmet with a tiger pattern strapped to it. 

Hilda can't help but grin. Her girls. Zelda will have to wait. Or deal with things herself. This is Cerberus family time.

The three Cerberus girls clap their hands as their mother finishes the first round on her new scooter. They can't wait until it's their turn.

***

Strangely enough, Zelda finds her bedroom door locked. Maybe Hilda thought someone would enter the room and try and go through her things? But she should know from her own past experience that Zelda spell-locks all items she wishes to keep private individually, and that a locked bedroom door in a High Priestess's home will surely send tongues wagging. Something's not right here.

When Zelda has unspelled the door, her heart nearly stops.

On her sister's bed, a young man lies, in a black suit and black boots, his black waistcoat buttoned up right up to where the white collar of his shirt becomes visible. He is fast asleep, curled up in a foetal position, one arm round one of Hilda's stupid heart shape pillows, the long-nailed fingers of his other hand clenched around a handkerchief that he is pressing to his mouth, with dried tears having left traces on his pale cheeks. 

For the briefest of moments, she thinks it is Faustus. The same hands, the same black hair, the same posture when caught up in a nightmare and fast asleep.

Too young. Too ... Too female.

Once more, Zelda's heart nearly stops beating.

What on earth is her eldest daughter doing here, dressed up like the father she never knew as her own, on this night of all nights. Fast asleep on her aunt's bed, in her mother's bedroom, asleep after obviously crying her heart out. Locked up, hopefully by Hilda and noone else.

Zelda is overcome by weariness and exhaustion. She barely manages to lock the bedroom door again. This is not for all eyes. Then she takes off her shoes and her outer robe, and climbs onto her sister's bed to put her arm around her first-born child. She kisses her forehead, murmurs words of solace, and strokes her face. No matter that they have not spoken in so long and no matter that Toni is a young adult now, she is her baby, and whatever all of this means, she will make sure that Toni is alright, somehow. Hasn't she always made sure her eldest was safe...

With that thought, holding her first-born in her arms, Zelda falls asleep.

***

This is how Hilda finds them, her sister and her eldest niece. She has come upstairs to look for Zelda, who is needed for the second round of song and prayer of the night. There they are, on her bed, two grown witches, one, her niece, still dressed up as a Judas Boy, and her sister, only half-undressed, with her arms around her first-born daughter, both fast asleep.

They look so peaceful Hilda wishes she could just let them be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _prima inter pares_ \- first among equals.
> 
> Oh yes, I nearly forgot: [This is the version of _The House Carpenter/The Demon Lover_](https://youtu.be/0oVYqqlwycQ) they are listening to.


	12. Before the  Midnight Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia, Sabrina, Ambrose and Faustus offer further insights into the role gender has played in the Greendale and other covens. Judas/Peter's response to what he learns about his father still does not reveal his true character. Or does it? Faustus gets really drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very, very long night. Zelda would agree. I hope you don't mind.
> 
> Also, please note that I have picked and mixed various aspects of various cultures for _Imbolc_ to suit the story, not just what I found out about that Celtic/pagan holiday.

Julia is at an age when she cannot help being fascinated by anything and everything adults or her older sisters are trying to hide from her. In her own mind, she is a _Nancy Drew_ , a _Flavia de Luce_ , or a teenage _Miss Marple_ , three intriguing characters she has learned about from forays into her Cerberus cousins' bookshelves. In other words, she is a spy and a sleuth, or, as her older sisters would say, a fecking nuisance. 

She does not know this but Julia is one of the reasons Hilda spell-locked Zelda’s bedroom once Toni had stopped crying and fallen asleep with exhaustion. 

As it turns out, Julia does not even make it to her mother's bedroom, where she hopes to either find evidence her mother is indeed expecting, as she suspects (clues: mood swings, has been raiding the pantry for pickles), or, if her mother is in, to ask if she can be excused for an hour or two, to read her comic books. 

On the upper floor landing, she finds her cousin Sabrina's little black travel notebook. 

Obviously it is her duty as a Spellman to secure the book and ensure no guest has access to her cousin's private information. At the same time, she does not feel duty bound to return it to her cousin immediately. Julia knows Sabrina is an _anthropologist_ , with a secret mission, and believes that this means that she is a kind of witch detective, who travels the world in search for clues. She isn't too far off the mark. In her own role as an investigator of family secrets, Julia feels she ought to learn as much as she can from such a valuable source as her cousin's notebook.

Despite a slightly bad conscience she takes the volume that is held together by a black elastic to the roof of the Spellman home. This is the most private place she knows. She does not know that she is lucky not to find Sabrina there.

The book is spell-locked and encrypted in a number of different spell-codes but Julia is able to unspell the elastic and decode some the handwriting used on a bunch of loose pages, which she is able to do with the help of spells learnt from her uncle Edward's first diary (written when he was 16), which Sabrina had hidden under a floorboard when she was a teen and left behind when she moved out. 

So instead of finishing her comic, Julia spends the hour before midnight reading what she can of _Warlocks Alone At Home. Gender and Imbolc - Con??? and Field Notes by Dr Sabrina Spellman. (????? ??????????? !!!)_ and copying some of what she can decipher into her own blood-red notebook. 

It is the word _warlocks_ that catches her attention. 

Disappointingly, none of the information Julia can access is new to her, even though some of the words are. Another disappointment is that, while fathers and other warlocks are mentioned, this is done in the most general and abstract way, unless the parts she cannot read contain more specific information. 

Julia really only knows Ambrose and Browny, and she has been quizzing her cousins about them. Of course, what she really wants to find out is what it is like to have a father or two. This is forbidden territory, which makes the topic even more fascinating. She is aware that she and her sisters must have fathers, and sometimes, during services, she glances surrepticiously at the warlocks who sit with their families or alone in the back rows of the Unholy Church and wonders whether any of them could be her father. Sometimes she daydreams of a tall and probably blonde or ginger-haired warlock, the High Priest of another coven, coming to visit and revealing to her that she is _his princess, his special little witch, his heir_. When she pictures him in her mind, he is an older, masculine version of herself. 

She hopes her mother never finds out about this.

***

 _Transcribed excerpt from **Warlocks Alone At Home. Gender and Imbolc - Contextual and Field Notes by Dr Sabrina Spellman. (Note to self: Add missing info and refs, correct and clean up before publication!!!)**_

_**Note to self:** Make sure to change names if published and take out references to magic. Add references to literature. _

  * _History of festival? Ask Aunt Z for access to Church library. Vita Brigidae? Vitae Veneficarum Celtarum? Saint B. - related or derived? Conflation with Celtic fertility goddess? With "Saint" Patrick (former slave)? Folkore? Customs across the globe or European/North American? Greendale?_
  * _Spring - Persephone Myth (seasons) - entrance to underworld? Spring = renewal - possible connection - Hades/hell? Queen of feast?_
  * _straw dolls / straw boys - relevant?_



_Draft - **Note to self:** Add footnotes for refs, check notes in diary 2 for literature/other case notes_

_It is one of the ironies of **Imbolc** , a feast celebrating the beginning of spring which is ostensibly dedicated to the power of witches, that more often than not what was really strengthened, historically speaking, were the bonds between fathers and sons, uncles and nephews, male cousins and warlocks in general._

_While warlocks used to have their exclusively male spaces, only during **Imbolc** , warlocks could be sure of total segregation. During other times, Church Elders' meeting places, clubs, all-male drinking establishments, bawdy houses, saunas and private hobby rooms might have seemed not to allow witches. Nevertheless there were witches. They were quite invisible to the more stupid kind of warlock but others were aware that there were female eyes and ears, despite the rules. There were witches who cleaned, who washed dishes, who served tables, who were made available as sex objects or, in private environments, there might easily be some nosy female relative or two, who would snoop or overhear something, and possibly report back to the elder witches of the coven. During **Imbolc** , all witches were otherwise occupied, celebrating all night in one witch's home. Warlocks were left to their own devices, to do as they pleased._

_In the old times **Imbolc** was the time warlocks' bonds with each other would be affirmed or renogiated, through formal talks, silent companionship or loud carousing. These bonds were different in kind, familial, sexual, social, religious, or economic but they all shared one characteristic. They were exclusively male, even if they would eventually lead to adoptions, family alliances or marriages in which young witches were used as pawns confirming what had been agreed upon by two or more warlocks._

_Unless, of course, the foundation stones for such events had already been laid through what two or more witches had settled among themselves. (Ya bet! Oral sources, see notebook 3)_

_For centuries, wiser warlocks and witches never questioned each others' spheres of influence too much until warlocks/(high-)priests like FB (his grandfather!?) began to advocate the supremacy of warlocks over witches. (Check: According to Aunt H about Spellmans - parents and grandparents, remark made to me when? ?! When did FB start secret society? Who would know that? Historic records? Compare Rome notes. However, remember that many parts of Rome archives not accessible. Talk to Ambrose.)_

_For centuries, gender and sexual preferences were fairly fluid. What a witch or warlock did in the privacy of his or her home or his or her club was maybe a matter of gossip but not necessarily one of social stricture. Indeed, deviancy could be seen as a form of Satanic service, to be praised and looked up to. As long as it did not interfere too obviously with a family's or a coven's need for new members to be born or with the power structures of the Unholy Churches. Indeed, rumours have it that there was a witch who ruled as Unholy Pope in the Middle Ages (Really, or just myth? Compare RC Pope Joan story). Other rumours persist that quite a number of the founding fathers of eminent families were more inclined towards other warlocks than their witch wives (or both?). Another persistent myth concerns the probable fact that some communities of unholy sisters were less interested in serving the Dark Lord than in each other's company, day and night. (Especially at night.) And yet, most witch communities have ended up with a binary system of quite distinct gender roles and responsibilities for witches and warlocks when it comes to unholy religious practice. (Comparison with Abyssinia and Macedonia? Indo-European versus non-Indo-European? Greece!!! Blackwood ancestor Athenian? Cross-check infanticide notes. Or cf. Christian churches? Only few cultures developed a less binary system and third or fourth genders - should be discussed in another section.)_

_Of course, the traditional separation according to traditional gender roles means that **Imbolc** has always been/always was the night when those warlocks who secretly or not so secretly feared or despised witches could reaffirm their prejudices. ( **Note to self:** past or continuing, that is the question. Ask Ambrose, I suppose. Also contact Prue about historical dimension. I'm an anthropologist not a historian; interesting diachronic/historical dimension though.) _

_This may still be the case, to a certain extent. After all they have the opportunity to spend time together. (Ask Ambrose?!? Who else?)_

_(PS: Actually I bet this is still going on, in secret. There must be some Judas Boys still hankering after the bad old times. After all I don't think this issue was ever properly addressed. They, including Auntie Z, all pretend continuity with ancient witch traditions. So much not ever talked about. Not even Auntie H. My fault? Read H.A. and others on German history (mortal). Hornets' nest or worse?)_

***

While Zelda has been sleeping with her arms around her first-born, and Julia has been reading her travel notebook, Sabrina has had the chance to spend some time observing how different types of straw dolls' bodies are being constructed, straw dolls which will be clothed after the second round of hymns and prayers, and then taken in a procession to the houses of witch families in Greendale and beyond, where they will be carried around the home and be burnt in the hearth for good luck. She is not observing the making of dolls for the first time, and, as always, the different methods of weaving the straw into doll shapes which different witches apply - methods learnt from mothers, aunts or grandmothers - fascinate her. 

Every family's type of straw dolls is specific and distinct. No witch ever deviates from the family pattern when it comes to dolls' bodies. Due to intermarriages and the meandering of the female bloodline, people with different names turn out to have the same pattern, which means that some families' ties are remembered here that would be lost in a fully patrilinear system. That matrilinear traditions matter is a strong message of _Imbolc_. 

Later tonight, another message will be embodied. When it comes to dolls' dresses, the focus will be on overcoming traditions and on renewal. Each family's dolls' clothes will be made out of fabric from discarded dresses but the patterns will try to evoke the latest fashion; buttons, glitter and other decorations will be sewn on in unexpected ways, and witches will happily steal ideas from other witches while they try to create the most fantastic looking garments, each and every one with a unique and surprising look to it. 

Sabrina's curiosity isn't purely professional, although she will be taking some notes from memory for the paper she is planning to write. She usually takes a more analytical than personal interest in organised religious practices these days but _Imbolc_ fascinates her.

Sheltered by her aunts from the coven's general disapproval of her parents' marriage and her own half-mortal status, young Sabrina never had the chance to participate in the coven's _Imbolc_. Her aunts' private family version of the holiday did not come close to the hustle, bustle and general convivality she has since observed whenever she came back to Greendale to visit on her aunt's birthday. 

As a child Sabrina thought that the straw doll they put together and carried round the house in the morning only to burn it in the fire had something to do with her Aunt Hilda's birthday. She never questioned why Ambrose always kept to himself all night and only joined the family in their early morning procession. She now realizes how painful having a male relative in the house must have been for her Aunt Zelda. In her view, informed by her fervent faith in the Church of the Night, this must have seemed an abomination. This morning's priest scare must have reminded her of those unhappy days.

It does not surprise Sabrina, really, that _Imbolc_ has become one of the most important feasts in a Church led by her traditionalist Aunt. Well, it's a better tradition than others, which thankfully have been dropped. 

Over at the main table, there seems to be some commotion. Prudence, who has been showing her half-sister how to weave a straw doll, has been emphatically interrupted by an elderly witch. Seeing how conspicuously large the dolls are that Helena, Chloe and Persephone have made, Sabrina wonders whether that is what the elderly witch objects to when she realizes who that witch is. Who she is explains why she is upset. She is Sister Jacob, a cousin of the late Lady Blackwood's, and, of course, Nasty should not be making a doll in a pattern that Prudence is teaching her since they are only related on their father's side. (And what a father. Sabrina shudders, and surrepticiously makes the sign of the triple moon.) Never mind that Prudence probably is using a pattern she came up with herself and not a Blackwood pattern. What's at stake here is female traditions and, of course, Auntie Z has been very emphatic that they are welcoming Lady Constance's children into the coven. Of course, Auntie Z realized that, once they decided that being a Jacob overrides being a Blackwood, some of Constance's relatives would claim Nasty as their own, especially during _Imbolc_.

Prudence looks decidedly disgruntled as Sister Jacob pulls Nasty away towards the corner of the room where her own sister and nieces are busily making dolls from straw, and starts showing her how to create one for herself. Sabrina flashes a hopefully more friendly than pitying smile at Pru and her daughters. Of course, she thinks, as she ambles towards her own cousins, this will be hard for Pru. Pru never knew her mother, who wasn't really anybody anyone ever much talked about, except maybe when Lady Blackwood was giving out to her husband. Orphans ususally do not get to make dolls until they create their own pattern for their own daughters, she supposes. Or they join the childless and unconnected at the table where a number of witches, including Dorcas and Agatha, are twisting straw into crowns to be worn during the procession.

Sabrina may be an orphan, and a half-mortal at that, but she has always had a family. Nothing has changed in this respect since she found out who she really was, how and why she was born and how complicated her parentage was. She still has her family. She belongs.

Her cousins Locasta and Selena, who have added the African headbands she gave them to their outfit, grin at Sabrina when she joins them. They are each showing a younger sister how to do the Spellman pattern, with less success than they might hope for. Cassandra's doll has spiky hair standing up in all directions, and Alice's is all but falling apart. Anna and Claudina, who are old enough to know the pattern, look as if they don't remember how to begin. 

Sabrina murmurs a little spell to help, just as Auntie Hildy used to do when Aunt Zelda wasn't looking. Or probably pretending not to look. She then takes some straw and slowly begins to construct her own doll so that Anna and Claudina can follow her example without having to admit that they do not remember how to do it themselves. 

Soon the seven Spellmans are chatting happily, about Sabrina's time in Africa, about the Academy and about being home-schooled, about what Greendale High was like for Sabrina, about who their best friends are. Cassandra wants to know why they cannot keep the dolls they are making and why the Spellman pattern is the only one that involves the complication of giving the doll braided hair. 

The pattern they are using is a Spellman pattern by name and by origin, as Auntie Hildy explained to Sabrina when she was little. Grandmother and Grandfather Spellman were second cousins and even before that, over the centuries, Spellman warlocks had married the female descendants of a Spellman witch. 

"Probably the Spellman ancestor who came up with this liked her own hair braided." 

Sabrina's explanation does not convince her cousins. 

"Probably her boyfriend liked braids," Locasta suggests, amidst her sister's guilty giggles. 

It is one of the ironies of _Imbolc_ , Sabrina thinks, that warlocks may be banned from the festivities but that they are very much present in the whispers, scheming and gossiping of the attending witches, old and young. 

"Or maybe her girlfriend, if she was like Toni," Selena adds. She is the most serious of Zelda’s daughters, quite ambitious and the only one who has the knowledge, intellect and boldness to discuss theology with her mother. She misses her absent oldest sister most, and, despite having gotten into trouble for it, begins many a family argument by referring to what Toni would say or do.

Locasta, whose view of the world is still informed by an _either-or_ approach, disagrees, "If she was like Toni, we wouldn't exist. I bet she made the pattern extra hard to annoy the Spellmans. I mean her descendants, us."

She holds her doll up and examines its braids critically.

Sabrina thinks how lucky she is to be so clearly part of that "us", not only in her cousins' eyes but her own. Strictly speaking, neither of Sabrina's biological parents were Spellmans unless her Satanic conception worked completely differently from normal conception, which is something Sabrina does not wish to dwell on. Although, maybe, one day, she will go where Prudence has gone and do one of those tests. She cannot imagine she is the only spawn of Satan to have been born over the centuries, and it might be worth looking for their descendants. Apart from the issue of who her father was, Sabrina's maternal line is a mortal one, and it is a miracle of sorts that neither her cousins nor any other witches here question her right to be at this table. She seems to have earned the right to her name and her position as an eminent if often absent witch. Not even Mother Shipman has made any snide remarks in recent years. 

As Sabrina finishes her own doll and murmurs a few more spells to help her nieces' endeavours, she thinks of how much she owes to both her aunts, who have ensured that, whatever her blood may say, she is a Spellman.

Once finished, the seven Spellman dolls are clearly embodiments of what Sabrina sees as the same bold ancestral spirit, albeit in different stages of perfection. It is to their credit as a family that the Spellman girls don't disperse but proceed to make straw dolls for those of their sisters who are too small, too absent or too busy with other matters to make their own. Now that they have practised, this is a faster process. With Sabrina's help a doll is put together for their mother, who they have not seen in a while, and more dolls are constructed, for their aunt and for their cousins. They may not be very active in or even members of the Church but they should still be able to receive the blessings of Brigida through the burning of their own straw doll, just like every other female member of the Spellman family. 

When they have finished their task, the girls make room for other families, and scatter in different directions, some to join the choir, others to find their friends. As she places the Spellman dolls in the Spellman box, which sits next to the Lovecraft box, Sabrina realizes that they have made one doll too many. 

Auntie Hilda would see this as a sign. 

***

In another house, the same night, half an hour before midnight, two warlocks are considering the crimes of Faustus Blackwood. 

"So my father was a power mad tyrant and murderer? A manipulator who gained and abused the trust of younger witches and warlocks for his own gain? Who did not only murder his predecessor as High Priest, the highest ranking anti-cleric in his church, and half his coven but also, you believe, is responsible for my poor mother's death?"

Ambrose cannot tell whether the young warlock's cool tallying of Blackwood's crimes is due to bravado, a delayed response due to shock, or whether this warlock truly lacks emotional depth. Peter's voice sounds slightly ironic when he refers to his mother, as if he has heard and dismissed these allegations before. But surely that cannot be, can it? 

Peter smiles at Ambrose, who feels the hairs on his neck stand up. 

"This has been most interesting. Thank you, Ambrose, for sharing your side of the story. I understand our father is not a popular personage around here, and how y'all must view us with suspicion so. We're mostly harmless though, when treated kindly." 

Another smile.

"I hope you will forgive me if I don't stay up any longer, Ambrose. It's been an exhausting couple of days." 

It is with great relief that Ambrose watches the young warlock leave the room. Creepy. And not in a good way.

Because it is better to be safe than sorry, Ambrose adds another protective spell to the house. Peter will neither be able to leave the house nor be able to open the door to Browny's bedroom, once Ambrose has closed it behind himself.

***

In his cell under his former church, Faustus Blackwood has set his embroidery aside. He has done what he can but now he feels a sense of weariness and exhaustion sweep over him. What a day it has been.

He ambles over to his drinks cabinet, and as a first precaution downs a large glass of that concoction of Zelda’s. Then he opens and pours himself a large glass of the special edition Lagavulin he has been saving for a special occasion. Its peaty flavours will get rid of the lingering taste of soil.

A bottle he was going to open with Zelda. 

Blessed Heavens. It is _Imbolc_ , after all, and he will not continue to contemplate the state of his marriage. 

It is a pity to use such a rare and exquisite single malt to get sozzled but he needs to find a dreamless sleep tonight, and the only way to ensure that is to get utterly and completely pissed. A glass is raised to _Imbolc_ , and gulped down in no time at all.

Faustus raises and empties glass after glass, and drinks to the men and the warlocks in his life, those who are dead and buried, while he has survived. 

His grandfather. 

His uncles. 

His father. 

His brothers and cousins. 

His wives' fathers. Their brothers. 

His sons. 

His teachers. 

The anti-popes and the Unholy cardinals. 

His clerical brethren. 

His students.

His acolytes.

The warlocks of his covens. 

Poor Father Cavendish. 

Edward fucking Spellman. ( _Her_ brother.)

Lucifer fucking Morningstar, maybe not dead but as good as.

Faustus hesitates but then raises a last glass to the one son who survived, according to Zelda, and who is no use to him anymore. Judas. 

Then, just before the clock strikes twelve, he stumbles to his bed. 

As he falls into bed, one of his arms automatically embraces his second pillow, which he notices still smells of Zelda. Holding on to it fast, he falls asleep. 

***

Alcohol is being imbibed in other locations, too. Mostly by warlocks, although a few witches have brought small bottles hidden away in secret pockets or handbags, to lace the tea served in the Spellman house with. 

A few warlocks are already quite drunk and some of them will pass out ere the witching hour begins. Others drink more responsibly or make sure to at least occasionally speak sobering spells. Some do so because in a few hours their grandmothers, mothers, aunts, daughters, sisters or cousins will come home to burn their _Brigidas_. Others do so because they are looking forward to being strawboys and to chasing young witches from the procession in the morning, which stops being fun when one is too drunk to properly see which of them is worth chasing.

***

It is nearly a quarter to midnight when Hilda finally manages to wake Zelda from her deep sleep. Toni does not stir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more _Imbolc_ chapter after this and then we will move at a faster pace. I promise!
> 
> As always, I'd love to hear from you. :)


	13. The Small Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discovery, a broken heart, open questions, religious rites, and the beginning of Spring.

With the exception of Hilda and Zelda, none of the witches in the Spellman home realize what a dark miracle it has taken to get the High Priestess awake, changed and ready for the second round of songs and prayers. What is noticed and noted is that, in the first time in the history of Greendale, the _nocturnae Brigidae_ start eleven minutes after midnight, rather than on the chimes of the hour as tradition would have demanded.

***

Of the eleven minutes Zelda is late, eight minutes could have been saved had the sisters not wasted them on continuing their hissing match about why Zelda hadn't been told earlier that Hilda had found Toni on their veranda, looking like, well, like _that_ , crying her heart out after some marital tiff. Why hadn't she been informed that Hilda had hidden Toni in Zelda’s bedroom? And why hadn't Zelda been consulted when Hilda had resorted to drugging her daughter with an extra strong portion of one her infernal herbal infusions just to calm her down? And then locked her in the bedroom. 

Each of Zelda's _why's_ was met by Hilda's _You weren't there_. 

It is a miracle that Zelda’s now intricately braided hair got done at all. 

Both Zelda and Hilda know that this is the story of Toni's relationship with her mother. For one reason or another, mostly to do with keeping the coven together in the early days, Zelda has not been there when her eldest daughter needed her. 

Hilda, who mostly was, is only glad that the combined effect of tea and exhaustion apparently has been strong enough for Toni to sleep through this conversation. It would not have done for the poor girl to wake up only to find her mother having no time for her; nor would it have done for Zelda not to get down there as quickly as possible.

Hilda shudders at the thought of any of the visiting or coven witches coming upstairs to look for Zelda, only to find the half-breed daughter they not so secretly despise their High Priestess for having given birth to in this weird Judas outfit. They would surely interpret all of this as an intended insult to the witching community. 

A further three minutes are lost when, about to leave the room, Zelda turns round to look at her sister sitting next to her eldest daughter.

Her face has an odd expression that Hilda knows only too well. 

She knows Zelda understands her duty to be to go downstairs but she'd rather stay. And yet it also vexes her that she feels that way. And there is something else. Hilda is certain that Zelda assumes that it was Hilda and not she Toni must have come home for, for solace and advice. Of course, matters are much less straightforward, but that is what Zelda believes. Hilda knows her sister well enough to recognize the potent mix of jealousy, annoyance, gratitude, and love that feeds into Zelda’s expression. Her older sister presses her lips together for a moment. Her eyes close for a moment. Then she looks at her sister, almost sadly. Her lips form a half smile.

"Can you stay, and make sure she knows she isn't alone when she wakes up? Please?"

Hilda nods. She can see her sister's relief.

And just when Hilda thinks Zelda is ready to go downstairs, her sister comes back into the room, spell-opens a drawer, and takes out a red and white polka dot gift bag.

"I've been meaning to give you this all day. Happy birthday, Hildy." A quick peck on the cheek, and the door finally closes behind her.

A few moments later Hilda can hear the choir's midnight hymns signal that the second part of the night has begun. 

***

When Toni opens her eyes half an hour later, she smells her mother's perfume on her pillow, but, when she turns around, it is her aunt she sees with her nose deep in an old book. Next to her, on the bedside table, there are two more leather-bound volumes. A sketched portrait of a frumpy woman in a hat and old time dress leans against the bedside lamp.

Hilda looks up, and smiles at her.

"This is brilliant, honey. Not really sexy," she giggles. "Not sexy, but quite funny, and so well-written. You should give it a try, too, when I'm done with it. Nothing as good for a broken heart than a good book, sweetheart. Listen to this, this is so great; such a great first sentence: _It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife._

At the mention of the word _wife_ , Toni's heart misses a beat, and her stomach feels as if it had been hit by fist or a stamped on by a heavy boot. Tears come, unbidden, and breathing becomes difficult.

Auntie Hilda looks incredibly guilty, and quickly moves closer to pat her gently on the back.

"Oh honey, it'll all work out, I'm sure. Why don't you get out of these horrid clothes; well, sorry, honey, maybe it is the height of fashion in your circles but for tonight this just won't do, a young woman dressed up like a young warlock at _Imbolc_. Why don't you put on, well, here are some of your mom's silk PJs, why don't you put these on and make yourself a bit more comfortable. They don't look girly at all. I'll just pop down to the kitchen; noone will notice, they're all hard so hard at prayer, and I'll get you a nice glass of hot milk with honey, and tomorrow all will look better, my sweet."

***

When Hilda returns, carrying a tray with a glass of hot milk and a bowl of Oreos, she half expects her niece to have fallen asleep again. Instead she has changed into her mother's PJ's and sits on her bed, her feet dangling and her eyes glued to the pages of the first volume of the novel. Her utter look of concentration on what she seems to be reading reminds Hilda of someone she knows.

No, not Zelda or Jules, or any of the girls, although there is something there of them, too.

No, she has seen this utterly serious and focused look before, somewhere, a long time ago.

It is only when her attention is caught by Toni's slim fingers with the long artifical nude beige finger nails she is sporting, one of which is stroking the page of the book she has opened, that Hilda realizes where she has seen that look before. 

Maybe this is helped by the memory of the Judas Boys outfit her niece was wearing before. Maybe the smudged black mascara and eyeliner play their part, or that new hairstyle, her niece's short curls slicked back, a strong gel still keeping them straight. .

What drives the message home, however, is that long, long nail scratching over the page.

She is looking upon a Blackwood. 

Hilda just manages to hold on to the tray but lets a frightened "oh" escape her lips. 

A pair of blue eyes look up that suddenly evoke another's glaring at her in reprimand for a minor unholy infraction or other. Even Toni's half smile when she sees her aunt now reminds her of that other smile, wooing unsuspecting members of the coven to trust and faith. The half smile is charismatic. Even in difficult moments, Toni has always had her own kind of charm. Oh no, not her own. _His_. 

Hilda can't help but shudder. 

She firmly sets down her tray next to her niece. None of us can choose who our parents are. This is still the Toni she helped bring up, who is as dear to her heart as Sabrina and nearly as dear as her own three. 

She hands Toni the glass of milk. 

"Drink this before it gets cold, sweetie pie. Just with honey, this time, but it'll help you sleep. And don't forget to dunk the Oreos."

Obediently, Toni takes a sip but then sets the glass aside. It seems childhood treats are not what is wanted.

Hilda settles down at her niece's other side and puts and arm around her. Maybe Toni will want to unburden herself now. 

Instead, Toni once more starts sobbing into her shoulder. 

It takes a while until she responds to Hilda's gentle backrubs and her murmured "there, there", and calms down a little. 

"I don't know what to do without her, Auntie Hilda," she whispers, then turns round, curls up, and falls asleep.

Hilda sighs, and pulls the blanket over her. Oh, dear. Something's really wrong here. 

"Tomorrow is another day," she whispers, and settles down on the chair next to the bed, with her birthday book to distract her. It doesn't work. However much she tries to lose herself in the book, her thoughts keep turning to that knowledge she cannot unknow. 

So much that happened in the past now makes so much more sense.

There was Zelda's waiting for the babe to be born before being crowned High Priestess, there was her very theatrical confession of adultery before the coven, and there was her stance on both her predecessors' theological writings, the _Judas Dogma_ on purity and masculinity as well as the _Spellman Doctrine_ on the powerful nature of the half-breed. Both were declared aberrations of unstable male minds.

The coven witches had sighed with relief and, despite the darkness of mourning, of allocating blame and of familiy feuds in the first few years after the doors of hell closed behind Lilith, life had eventually settled back to the traditional customs handed down by previous generations, if slightly, well, much slanted towards the point of view of witches. Lilith had replaced Satan as the authority prayed to, and witches had taken over power, but that was it. Whatever the merits of Edward's theory, the coven was not ready for a breeding programme wirh mortals, especially not if their High Priestess's first-born did not show any signs of special powers.

Neither have Hilda's daughters, but then dear Dr Cee was a mortal demonically possessed, so they have never counted. Of course, Toni's lack of special powers if compared to Sabrina's has been whispered about and the theory has been circulated that half-mortal power depends on the quality of the mortal partner, if, and it is a big if, there is any truth to the whole business. Since Sabrina stuck around for less than two years and has been focussing on trying to rescue that poor boyfriend of hers, the occasions when her special powers manifested were soon only talked about as lore, to frighten the little ones, rather than real events. Mostly they have been forgotten.

Poor Toni. Thought of as a lesser half-mortal but also never allowed to explore the mortal side she thought of as her heritage.

Unlike Sabrina, young Toni was never told anything about her mortal parent or shown photos, which makes even more sense now that Hilda realizes Toni isn't half-mortal at all but just a witch descended from a warlock everybody prefers not to mention. No wonder Zelda forbade her first-born to attend a mortal school or to mix with the mortal children of Greendale. And no wonder Toni, who felt that she was denied the chance to become who she was rebelled against her mother by choosing to leave and live as a mortal as soon as she could. 

Poor Zelda. Always extra strict with her eldest, who must have reminded her of the wrong choices she herself made when she allowed herself to be seduced by that warlock. Or, if she knows her sister, chose to seduce him.

Hilda cannot help but do the maths. Yes, it's quite likely Toni was conceived just before or right after the twins were born. Hilda sighs. Although she has known and loved her sister for centuries now, she still does not understand how she can use her body and sexuality the way she does.

Zelda doesn't have a romantic bone in her body.

And yet when it comes to the Spellman family and now her coven, she is as much a tigress as Hilda herself. 

It is, Hilda supposes, none of her business.

Even if Toni was up to such revelations, Hilda is not the right person to fill in her niece about what she has discovered. Hell knows whether this is something Toni should learn at all. It's not Hilda's call.

Maybe she can remind her niece how much her mother loves her. Or remind her sister to remind her. 

Later.

Tomorrow.

Tonight is not a good night for any more drama.

***

While Hilda watches over her sleeping niece, _Imbolc_ prayers, songs and hymns take their course as they should.

When the _nocturnae_ have come to an end, the High Priestess gives her unholy blessing to the _Brigida_ straw dolls, as yet undressed and stacked in their traditional boxes. She does so by sprinkling a mixture of resinated dark red wine, the blood of the black goat sacrificed during the recent Dark Baptism, unholy water and the first milk from the teats of a black sheep. When she is done the rest goes into the _Imbolc_ stew that has been simmering on the Spellman stove for days now. 

A small bowl of the stew and a beaker of wine are placed on the veranda outside, in case _Brigida_ decides to come by and accept their gift. Of course, this would be considered a potent sign. Zelda is fairly sure that the offerings will be accepted. It is the first week of February and it is cold enough for a number of wild animals to be glad of some extra nourishment. 

Then bowls of stew are distributed by the daughters of the High Priestess and selected daughters of the _Sorrowing Sisters_ ; as are beakers of hot resinated wine. Even the small children are allowed some drops of wine in their honeyed milk. 

Zelda makes sure she stops to talk and listen to each and every matriarch of each and every witching family, and that she asks each and every head girl of the _Unseen Academy_ a personal but unthreatening question. Once more she has her youngest daughter, who is about to fall asleep, on her arm. As she slowly weaves her way through the crowd, she is pleased to see that Selena, holding Agrippina by the hand, is doing the same on the other side of the room. Indeed, it gladdens her heart that all over the house, her daughters are following her example. The earnest faces of Alice and Cassandra as they are addressing Elnora Machen. Julia actually talking to her night daughter and Calliope Jacobs, and actually smiling at them as she does so. Locasta making Prudence and her daughters laugh at one of her silly jokes. 

Everything seems to be going well. Except maybe for the conversation Agnes is trying not to have with three elderly witches whose names she cannot immediately remember. Agnes is looking decidedly uncomfortable. As the three see that their conversation has caught the High Priestess's attention they direct their glares at Zelda. They aren't unfriendly but determined, intense, almost pleading. Now Zelda remembers who they are and what they want. Of course, they are Old Farney's sisters, from beyond Riverdale. She exchanges a quick glance with Agnes, and nods at her to indicate she should come over to her. She also directs a half apolegetic smile at the three Farnham sisters.

When Agnes arrives by her mother's side, Zelda places Locasta in her arms. It is time the _Queen of the Feast_ and the other small girls are taken upstairs to the nursery, to get some rest before the witching hour. Agnes takes the hint and carries her baby sister upstairs, not without politely wishing the Farnhams, who have followed her, a good night. 

Zelda once more notes that Selena takes the initiative again and ensures that none of the smaller girls stay behind. She is only twenty-one, after all, but she has been showing a wonderfully adult approach to life recently. Zelda can only hope that whatever mess Toni is in will not affect her, as it has in the past.

The Farnham Sisters are still hovering by Zelda's side, expectantly.

Inwardly, Zelda sighs. She does pity them and quite understands why they are hoping she will do as they have asked. After all, with their brother recently killed by a miscast spell, their family bloodline is about to end. They themselves are simply too ancient to have children. Once a witch has embraced post-menopausal bliss for a few centuries, the process isn't reversible, at least not without mortal blood sacrifice. And even then the reversal cannot be guaranteed. So, of course, they are keen on her giving up Agnes to them. But even if their assumptions about Agnes's parentage were correct, which they aren't, she would not agree to having her adopted into her paternal family. Apart from this being a dangerous precedent that would encourage other claims, Zelda's position is only as strong as it is because noone except herself _knows_. There is at least one other family she can think of who would claim Agnes as their own. Only because Zelda has ensured that such matters are kept vague she has been able to achieve the precarious balance between factions, families and covens that has ensured peace in the past decades. What angers Zelda most, however, is that anyone would assume that she would give up any daughter of hers to anybody. 

If she wasn't in the middle of a social and religious occasion, she'd give them a piece of her mind. If she didn't have to look after the coven and the Church as well as her family, she might do worse.

As things stand, Zelda looks at the three witches sternly but with a certain kindness. This is a mask, but one she has learnt is necessary to wear. It is one she has seen her father, Edward and Faustus wear. A High Priest or Priestess will always hide what they feel if they must, for the sake of a functioning community.

"Miss Farnham. Miss Farnham. Miss Farnham." She graciously acknowledges their presence. "You know it can't be done. We are the Church of Lilith, after all. It would be neither appropriate nor right. I accept that you have spoken from a place of loss but you must cease to ask for this to happen. Continuing to do so is not only unseemly but it shows an unfortunate disdain for the will of Lilith. I am sure you will choose your path wisely."

She reaches out and briefly, kindly, holds the elder Miss Farnham's shoulder. Then she allows the three witches to kiss her ring of power, a gesture of good will and dismissal. 

***

There are many reasons why Agnes and Julia do not always get on. 

Agnes senses that her younger sister is a favourite, although she so clearly does not deserve any special status. She has been a nuisance in the past, and is a snoop. Besides, Agnes is much closer to her next older sister, Locasta, than any of her other sisters. 

Julia hates that Agnes, who so clearly isn't as talented in so many areas as she herself is, gets to do so many more interesting things, just because she is a year and a few months older than her.

Even so, it is Julia who is not only astute enough to notice that her sister is upset but who senses that she needs some sisterly support.

As they leave the nursery, she sidles up to her older sister. She noticed the Farnhams talking to Zelda, and Agnes would have to be really more stupid than she is not to realize what the many recent Farnham presents, all of which she had to pass on to poorer witching families, were all about. 

"Don't worry, Mum's never going to give any of us up. If it's up to her we'll be here into our next century." She grins. She remembers the shy giant with the clammy hands and the soft, nearly-non existent handshake. "And I bet Uncle Farney wasn't your father, whatever they think. I mean he wouldn't even look a witch in the eye when he had to talk to any."

Agnes relaxes slightly. 

"I wish they'd just leave me alone. I'm a Spellman and I don't care who my father was. As long as it wasn't Uncle Farney." She wrinkles her nose. "Can you even imagine? I mean him and mum? Gross." 

Julia shudders. She only has a technical and theoretical understanding of how procreation works, and knows their mother must have been having sex for there to be so many of them. Even recently, if she is right about a new babe being on the way. But that doesn't mean that Julia wants to spend any time speculating on what Zelda does when she practices what she preaches. It is hard enough to sit in Church, and listen to her going on about the dark triad of carnality, fecundity and lust. 

"And it's not as if I looked like him in the slightest way," Agnes continues. "I'm not even tall. Just because Mum stayed with them for a day or two, around the time. I mean, she was doing a round of visits, it could have been anyone. I wish they'd just stop. It's unseemly and it's leading to all kinds of trouble."

In a rare moment of confiding in her younger sister, she leans over to Julia and whispers, "I just wish Mom would simply tell us. It's not as if any of us are longing for our daddies, or anything. I mean, we're the Spellman witches, right?"

Julia blushes slightly. 

"But it would be kind of good to know, you know,“ Agnes continues. "Take Locasta. The Borckes have invited her to tea, and keep singling her out, just as the Farnhams have been doing to me, only less obviously so, and now Locasta is really worried about why. I mean, she really, really likes Axel. What if he is her brother? Mum has had _the talk_ with her but she is super vague about that side of things. I mean, imagine you like a warlock or a witch, and things get, well, hot, I mean who wants to say, sorry I have to stop and go home to ask my mother whether we're related. Who wants to even snog someone when being related is even an option, let alone have sex. It's so unfair. And I don't care whether Egyptian witches married their siblings if that's what you were going to say. We aren't Egyptians."

Julia closes her mouth again. She doesn't even say that those witch families were actually Greek and just ran Egypt. This whole issue is an aspect of being the daughter of the High Priestess of Lilith that has not occurred to her yet. Hell's bells, life is even more complicated than she thought. 

Agnes shrugs her shoulders. "Ah well, let's get back down and rock those dolls' dresses. I bet you one week's washing the dishes in the next academy vacation that mine will be done before yours and have more decorative stitches, pearls and crystals than yours."

Julia, who hates doing the dishes even more than she hates sewing and embroidering, readily agrees to the challenge. 

Little does she know that it's Agnes's way of ensuring that her little sister's doll is less embarrassing than last year's. Agnes may even slow down a little, just to keep her sister hopeful. There is no chance in heaven any doll's dress will be more perfect than any Agnes creates. 

On their way down, they pass their mother, who is leaning against the wall, an empty espresso cup in one hand, her cigarette holder in the other, a thin line of smoke escaping from one side of her mouth. The ashtray on the side table is full with butts stained with lipstick. She looks more drained than either sister has ever seen her. 

Five minutes later, Zelda has joined her girls downstairs and is pretending that sewing beeds on a doll sized dress is something she enjoys and is good at. 

Julia smiles a beatific smile. Even if she can't beat Agnes, she can definitely produce a prettier, more ornate dress than her mother, and be a lot faster than her. 

***

 _In folklore, the witching hour or devil's hour is a time of night associated with supernatural events. Creatures such as witches, demons and ghosts are thought to appear and to be at their most powerful. Black magic is thought to be most effective at this time. In the Western [mortal] tradition, the hour between 3 and 4 a.m. was considered a period of peak supernatural activity, [...]. Women caught outside without sufficient reason during this time were sometimes executed on suspicion of witchcraft. The phrase "witching hour" was first recorded in 1835._  
  
_More recently, the hours between midnight and 2 a.m. have been considered the witching hour._  
  
_The term may be used colloquially to refer to any period of bad luck, or in which something bad is seen as having a greater likelihood of occurring._

( _[The witching hour (supernatural)](https://%20www.w3schools.com) _in the mortal _Wikipedia_ , at the time of publication.)

***

Of course, mortal tradition has it right. During _Imbolc_ , it is the hour between 3 and 4 a.m., the zenith of witchcraft power, that will see the High Priestess (or, in the olden days, the High Priest's wife) pray over the assembled witches and their straw dolls. Unattached witches will wear straw crowns they will later hang over their doors. Then a procession of witches will leave the house in which they have spent the night, carrying torches lit from the hearth fire of that house to the clearing in the woods where Dark Baptisms are celebrated. The High Priestess (previously the wife of the High Priest) will plant the six pomegranate seeds that signify seasonal change in the unholy grove, and speak a final unholy blessing on their dolls and on them, before her _Ite, missa est_ ends the night and sends the witches home. Only when the bodies of thrice-blessed-dolls have been burnt to cinders in each family's hearth, spring can properly begin. The dresses are taken apart and their components are reused to spread _Brigida's_ blessing. Some witches bind the fabric round sapling trees near unholy wells.

The way home after the last unholy _Imbolc_ blessing is fraught with its own dangers, since, once the witching hour has ended, young warlocks, more often than not in varying states of inebriation, come out in the open again, to chase a pretty witch or two. It is a tradition much frowned upon these days that they hide their faces behind horned angry goat masks. This, after all, is the Age of Lilith, and even indirect references to the Dark Lord are best avoided.

Zelda, who knows that young warlocks need an outlet but also need to be kept in their place, has called these masks "baby goat faces" within the hearing of other witches. She has decreed that, if not altogether dropped, which would be best, they must be worn in honour of Lilith's demon sons, may they long prosper in hell, where their mother rules over sons and daughters alike, may her name be honoured. 

It is a traditon that some more fecund young witches quite enjoy being chased.

The blessings of _Brigida_ are real. A year and a month after _Imbolc_ , spring often shows its power by another witch baby or two being born to a coven.

Such is the power of most witch rituals.

***

**Note:**  
The hours between midnight and 2 a.m. _are_ powerful, too, of course. This is why the _nocturnae_ , the blessing of the straw bodies, the eating of the unholy stew and the first ornaments stitched onto the dresses of the _Brigida_ doll carry with them special potency. Dolls finished before 2 a.m. are indeed thought to be more effective in evoking Brigida's unholy blessing, although that may also be due to the fact that they have been created by witches who have talent and focus.

Despite her best intentions to slow down, Agnes's pefect doll is finished first. As powerful well-mannered witches should, she does not crow about that fact but helps her sisters, cousins, and, without making this obvious, her mother finish theirs. Such is the way Spellmans look out for each other.

***

Noone outside the Spellman family wonders that Hilda Spellman is not taking part in the final rites of _Imbolc_. She has been a less than perfect attendee of Church rituals in the past. Had any witch spared a thought for her, which they do not, they would simply have assumed that one of her half-breed daughters needed looking after or some such reason.

Zelda, who knows who she is looking after, speaks a quiet dark prayer for both her eldest child and her sister under her breath before she dismisses the attendant witches and sends them into the morning. She cannot wait to get back home herself. 

As she hears the happy chatter of mothers, daughters, sisters and cousins wending their way homewards as well as the odd shrieks and laughter of young witches being chased by warlocks, Zelda tells her daughters to hurry. None of _her_ daughters, she hopes, have any inclination to dawdle to catch a young warlock's attention in such an unbecoming way as other mothers' do. Or as she herself did when she was younger, if she is honest, but she is not going to share this with her girls. Even if the girls did crave male attention though, no warlock would be foolish enough to try their luck with the High Priestess's daughters. 

***

It is exactly 4 a.m. when the last Spellman doll has gone up in flames. Julia has noted the extra little doll and she has noticed her mother noticing it, too, and the smile Zelda quickly suppresses. So there _is_ another sister on the way, she deduces.

It is too early for breakfast but there is a pot of tea and some toast to be had in the kitchen. Except for the little ones, who are brought to bed by their mother, the girls, their Cerberus cousins and Sabrina are free to snack, go to bed, spend the rest of the morning chatting, or do whatever they please. There is time enough to start cleaning the mess the house is in later.

Julia will start reading her new comic. But before she does so, she will return Sabrina's travel notebook to her cousin. Thank Lilith, Sabrina has no idea that she has long ago deciphered some of the spellcoding Sabrina has been using. The _reverso_ spell, with which she closed the book right after midnight, will ensure that her aunt will not notice that someone has opened the small black volume with her name on it.

On her way to the secret attic room behind the tapestry, where she has spell-hidden Sabrina's diary under a pile of records, Julia observes her Aunt Hilda poking her head into the nursery. It's really nice that the Cerberuses haven't gone home yet. For all her day-dreaming about that tall warlock father she imagines she has and her teenage moods, Julia really is a Spellman born and bred, which means she concurs with the family saying _The more Spellmans, the merrier_. Also, Auntie Hilda is one of her favourite people ever.

This new spring is going to be brilliant, she decides. After all, she has her belated birthday party to look forward to, now that the Church ceremonies have been taken care of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note to early readers: I have swapped the title of the book first alluded to by Zelda in chapter 9 from _Sense and Sensibility_ to _Pride and Prejudice_ because of the latter's first sentence. I hope you don't mind.
> 
> Making other witches kiss her signet ring? Indeed. In some respects, Zelda has become Faustus. Thank Lilith, not in all. And the question remains how much of that Old Faustus is still to be found in Faustus, the New Warlock. Or in any of his offspring.
> 
> Should you want to know what the significance of the pomegranate seeds are, [this article](https://life.spectator.co.uk/articles/pomegranate-fruit-myths-made/) provides the answer.
> 
> And this explains [Ite, missa est.](https://en.m.wiktionary.org/wiki/ite_missa_est)
> 
> Well, and that's the _Imbolc_ part of this fiction done and dusted. It took longer than I had thought it would ;)


	14. The Sins of the Fathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most of Greendale is asleep but not everybody. Lilith makes an appearance in a dream. Faustus sleeps a dreamless sleep until a desendant's nightmares invade it. Sickness and heartbreak in the Spellman family home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that there are graphic descriptions of violence and its effect in some passages. Violence is one of the consequences of violence. Nature or Nurture? Or both?

At five a.m. most of Greendale is asleep. Most mortals haven't yet begun the day, except for Mr Cassidy, the baker, and Billy and Joe, the two newspaper boys, whose paper rounds start before the sun rises. Almost all members of the Greendale coven and its splinter groups have finally turned in, and sleep has claimed most of them. They are too tired to stay up, except for a few over-excited youngsters and one or two couples who wish to bring the blessing of _Brigida_ to fruition.

Most of Greendale includes Zelda Spellwood's monster, fast asleep in the bowels of the earth. 

Most of Greendale includes their eldest daughter but, unlike her father's, her sleep so far hasn't been dreamless if her tossing and turning and kicking her sheets off is any indication. Since then she has become less restless, even still, but is emanating a whimpering kind of sound. She does not wake up when her worried aunt places a hand on her forehead. Her skin is icy to the touch. 

***

Most of Greendale does not include Prudence or her new-found siblings. 

At five thirty a.m. Prudence has come to inquire about the noise of drawers opening and closing and the footsteps busily traversing the room above hers. She finds her half-brother sitting on one of the siblings' trunks, while his twin is packing her belongings into the other. 

It turns out that the twins are moving to their maternal relatives for the few days before they will, at the High Priestess 's command, start attending special classes at the Unseen Academy.

"Are you sure? What's the hurry? Are you not happy here?" Prudence feels more than a little vexed but also ever so slightly relieved at the prospect of having them out of her house.

"We're very glad to have found you, Prudence, and we'll be eternally grateful for all the kindness you and your family have shown us." Nasty sees no sense in burning bridges. And Prudence has been rather good to them. After all, one of her husbands _is_ related to the High Priestess. "But our mother's relatives have kindly invited us, and we would like to get to know that side of our family, too." 

She smiles at Prudence, who finds it hard to smile back. She is beginning to feel angry. She is only too aware of how that side of the twins' family still regards her. To them she is the bastard daughter of a whore and a betrayer. Never mind that she was born before Constance, Lady Blackwood, was even engaged to her father. Never mind that it was she who saved their lives. They will poison the twins' minds against her. But it won't do to be too hostile. WIth a frown she helps her half-sister close the trunk.

Peter has been watching his sister pack, and their half-sister pace up and down the room. Now they are struggling to make the lid come down properly. For once, he is not smiling. The faster they lose the Blackwood connection, the better.

They have come too far since their childhood to be the pariahs in any community again. 

***

It is five forty-five when Zelda briefly considers whether a quick merciful death by hammer, followed by some rest in their little graveyard would not be the best approach to restoring her daughter. Despite Hilda's, Sabrina's and her own best efforts to keep her warm, Toni's temperature is still dropping But death and resurrection have become a more difficult matter these days since there are so many of them. She has also been extracting quite a lot of soil over the years, to keep Faustus alive and sane when the terror visits him. So there is no guarantee really that this would work with any Spellman who isn't in perfect health when killed. And Toni obviously isn't fine. 

Hilda mumbles something sacrilegous about Brigida's blessing in her sister's hearing but is not reprimanded. A metaphor, even one that furthers harmony among witches and may or may not lead to other blessings, will not help her child get better. 

Toni does not react at all, as her mother and her aunt carry her to Zelda's bathroom, where Sabrina and Selena have been running her a hot bath, enhanced by balms and heating spells. 

It takes all four of them to undress her and heave her into the hot water. Still no response but at least Toni is breathing more calmly. Selena is sent to the pantry for some more calendula and camomile infused tallow, wormwood extract and more candles. Hilda, and Sabrina are huddled in a corner and are discussing what spells might be adapted, and how many Spellman witches might contribute in what way. 

Zelda is watching over her child. 

The room is hot and humid, especially near the bathtub from which steam rises. Water and sweat trickle down Zelda's moist face, down her cleavage and her belly. And yet, when she gently strokes her eldest-born's cheeks she finds that they are still icy cold. 

Zelda begins to hum one of the lullabies she has sung for all her babes when they were sick, and kisses each of her daughter's fingers, one after the other, after she has rubbed some of Hilda's warming salve in. If only she could return to that time in her relationship with her daughter, when Toni was a wee babe in her arms, smelling of milk and honey and baby.

These days Zelda makes absolutely sure she makes time for each and every one of her daughters, to be there as much as she can, to be ready to kiss and cuddle them as much as they want, and to always talk to them when they want to talk to her. She _will_ scold them and be strict, and, occasionally, when her temper gets the better of her, kill them. Or if killing is the most appropriate and efficient way of dealing with an issue. But she makes sure they know how much she cares for them. Her failure with Toni has taught her that. 

Toni herself would claim that her mother was ashamed of having her, and has, indeed, said so to her face, in one of the angry arguments they had before they became entirely estranged. Occasionally Zelda admits to herself that there is an element of truth to this but not for any of the reasons Toni assumes. Toni's assumptions are also entirely unfair. She _had_ of course been worried about what this child would mean but as soon as she held her newborn daughter in her arms she felt her world shift so fierce was the sense of protective love she felt. She would be this beautiful witch's father and mother and ensure that no harm befell her, so help her Satan, or Lilith, or any other deity that cared to listen. Then the faction fights started. And the coven wars. And Faustus returned, and became her secret burden and, later, her companion, of sorts. And the joy and pain of motherhood multiplied. And somehow, on the way, her eldest was lost to her. By Lilith, she tried. But to no avail. A mortal life was chosen, maybe to spite her.

Toni's hands feel a bit less icy. 

Zelda would gladly give up any claim she might still have on her daughter if only she chooses life over death. 

As Zelda moves around the tub to massage liniment into her daughter's feet, she is struck, as she has been before, how physically similar she is to Faustus in so many ways. So many of her daughters resemble their father, some more than others, of course. One day, Zelda fears, someone will realize that they all resemble each other in ways unrelated to their maternal family. Of course, they are Spellmans, and some more recognizably so. But if you know how to look, they are Blackwoods, too. They all, even Julia, have his hands and feet, some have his eyes, or his nose, or his mouth, or all three. Toni's quite muscular frame is even similar in proportion to Faustus's, with fairly broad shoulders and slightly too short legs for her body to completely correspond to the standard of beauty most witches aspire to. She even seems to have inherited his love of tattoos as the snake coiled around her breasts, with her fangs ready to strike, attests. But then Toni has always been different, and her own kind of person. Despite the similarities she has never seemed a female younger version of Faustus. So far. 

Zelda rubs her child's feet. Each ankle has a new tattoo, one that seems to incorporate an upside down clef that turns into a meandering line that peters off, the other a square infinity knot. If she focuses on them she can avoid staring at the black, blue, greenish-brown marks on her daughter's shins. She feels Hilda's quizzical look on her, and, as her sister comes over to them and places a hand on her shoulder, she senses that Hilda, too, is taking in what Zelda has studiously avoided acknowledging to herself so far.

Dark rings under Toni's eyes. The receding traces of purple abrasions around her neck. The scratches, the bite marks and the receding purple bruising on her forearms make Zelda's heart sink even further. What, in Satan's name, has Toni let herself get into? What, for hell's sake, has Toni _done_? 

Just as Hilda leans over to whisper something into Zelda’s ear, Selena is back with what she has been sent to fetch, together with Irene, Locasta, and Agnes, who are carrying even more candles, towels and blankets. Hilda just squeezes Zelda’s shoulder and then takes Toni's other foot. 

As hot steam rises from the bathtub mother, sister, aunt and cousin rub Toni's hands and feet with Hilda's special ointment. Three more sisters hold candles. In the singsong used to ward off enemy demons and witch hunters, seven witches call out to their witch ancestors to bring their power to this room so that heat and health will return to their descendant's body. 

***

_She knows that she has to find her mother but that is all she can remember._

_She is running, as fast as she can. She must not stop or turn._

_Torrential rain is lashing down on her, soaking her clothes and hair, washing down her face, and blinding her. Icy water is running into her mouth, her lungs are hurting and her feet are nearly numb._

_She has tried various versions of_ Non Esse Pluvia _and_ Non Sit Imber _but cannot remember the exact words or gestures. Part of her wishes she could just crawl under a rock and die. And yet, she keeps pushing herself against the storm. She must not stop running._

_She has forgotten what horror it is she is running from. Only that it will catch up with her should she stop. So she keeps running no matter how nearly impossible it seems._

_It is dusky, nearly dark, and getting darker. She has been running through sandy dunes, across stubbled fields, along railroad tracks and gravelly paths. She hoped that the forest would provide a better shelter her from the inreasingly inclement weather but the trees only intermittently stop the cold water from pelting down on her. Is this a place she has been in before? The trees and bushes seem familar and unfamiliar at the same time. There is no clear path, and running becomes more fraught with difficulties. Old leaves hide the ground, and are slippery, as are the rooots that reach out across the forest floor. Branches are in the way, as is the undergrowth. Briars and thorns add to the scratches on her forearms, get entangled in the fabric of her clothing, and slow her down._

_Add to the scratches on her forearm?_

_The memory of an angry woman's face resurfaces for the briefest of moments, only to disappear again, and she panics. Where is her mother? Was this face her mother's? Or was it ... but neither name nor face will come to her._

_Distracted, she stumbles over a root and falls onto her outstretched hands. she finds muddy softness where she expects wet but firm ground. She sinks into a wet, swampy morass._

_It is a wet, swampy morass that rapidly swells into an ice-cold stream. Its currents carry her and other debris with them, hither and thither, however much she tries to resist and find something solid to hold on to. By the time she has managed to clasp onto a branch, the water has become a torrent. She is trying but fails to remember what spells she may have learned that would get her out of this or at least stop the cold water draining her body temperature. Something something aqua? All of a sudden the water begins swirling, a vortex pulls her in and throws her about in circles until her branch gets entangled with others and pulls her towards what looks like a gaping mouth. One of her boots that has come loose is bobbing up and down as the other half of the stream washes all it carries towards something that looks to her like the edge of the world she has seen depicted in some etching or other. Just as she is swallowed by earth and water, she loses both her grip on her branch and her consiousness._

_When she comes to, she is nearly burning up with the heat that surrounds her, a heat so strong that even opening her eyes is so painful that she closes them immediately._

_For the briefest of moments she glimpsed a dark shape, a girl or a woman. For the briefest of moments, she hopes against hope it is her mother._

 _"Ah, someone decided to pay me a visit. In a nightmare no less. How strange you found your way in." The voice she hears is neither young nor old or maybe both if such a thing is possible._

_She feels the tip of a shoe prod her side, and turns._

_"Not a boy. Not a warlock. A witch. But not Sabrina, that's almost a pity. But you do look somewhat familar," the voice is almost friendly. "I suppose I may have met some of your ancestors over the centuries."_

_The young witch, who has known fear and terror, indeed, who has been running from fear and terror to end up here, wherever or whatever this place is, knows she has never been as afraid of anything as of that voice, not even of her mother's anger, or of her own. She is prodded again, and instinctively curls up._

_"Hmmmm. No body, an incomplete soul, but deep emotions; half a mind, and much darkness. It's a pity you did not bring yourself_ and _your body," the voice muses, "Witch or not, you'd have made a strong vessel." Another prod. "Don't think I do not feel honoured not to have been forgotten by your kind but unless you can make yourself useful, which you really can't without your body, I would prefer you to leave. But before, you leave you will tell me your name._

_"Blackwood." She spits out the first name she can think of as if it is a curse. It isn't hers and it is an abomination, that much she knows. She is glad it came out because it would have been a mistake to give up her own, even if she could have remembered what it was._

_She is prodded again until she is in a position that seems to suit._

_"Blackwood..." The voice is amused, it seems. "That figures. Looking for your love, eh? No? Ah well. So the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Pathetic. Still, I'd better send you back then, another little present for Her Excellency. But before I do so, my dear, you need to open your sweet little mouth. I simply cannot have you blab about how you found what your, well whatever she is to you, has been dying to find for decades. It's a pity almost that you cannot let her know, that that's it. The secret way to this place. Dying."_

_Is is a snigger she can hear? The sound of footsteps. Crackling. The all-enveloping heat becoming even more intense. There is a strange smell of smoke and rottenness. Then another prod and a firm hand grabbing her by the neck._

_"Open. It won't be the worst you'll have to swallow as a witch." The voice does not brook disobedience, and yet despite that there seems to be some kindness in it. Obediently she opens her mouth._

_Excruciating pain hits her lips and her tongue, and fills her mouth and her throat, as a white-hot something is shoved into her mouth. For an instant she is taken back to what surely must be a childhood memory, of searing pain when attempting to lick a dollop of half-burnt raspberry jam off a still piping hot oven door. This is worse, much worse. Her throat constricts but to no avail. Not only does that thing burn her lips, tongue, and mouth but it oozes a lava-like liquid that is slowly finding its way down her gullet and her windpipe into her stomach and her lungs. Smoke and pain make breathing impossible._

***

For about half an hour, it seems their spells, hot baths, lotions and ointments have worked. Toni does not wake up but seemed more peaceful, and her body returns to a normal temperature. By a joint effort, she is returned to Zelda's bed. Then her temperature starts rising, quite fast, until Toni is burning up with a fever hot as hell fire; her breathing slow, loud and laborious. This Hilda and Zelda agrees is not a natural body response that can be allowed to to run its course. 

***

_She does not remember anything except for a name. Is her name Blackwood? Why does she think so?_

_The storm is howling. Hot sand surrounds her and blows into her face, making breathing nearly impossible, as does the throbbing pain in her mouth that reaches down into her intestines. She is crawling over a sandy surface that is hotter than any oven could be. Where she is crawling to does not matter. She knows that she must keep crawling, or the horror she has left behind will catch up with her._

_Her hands feel stones, rocks, and as she crawls forward, there is an opening, dark and cool, and moist. She is so thirsty and would try and drink the air, if there wasn't this indescribable pain that is forcing her lips shut,_

_She would like to curl up and die, surrounded by the dark and the the cool draft but she knows she has to move on._

_There is the sound of running water, and as she moves towards it, around a corner, she sees it comes from the direction of a narrow doorway through which white light is pouring. The light is hurting her eyes. She shuts them. Now her mouth and eyes are shut, and only her ears and her reduced sense of smell give her direction._

_She follows the sound of water, and keeps crawling through the tunnel, past nooks and crannies. For a moment, she opens her eyes and she thinks that she sees a beautiful woman, combing her hair in front of a mirror, and smoking. The smell of smoke makes her sick, and she blinks. There is no woman. And yet, as she crawls on, she hears the faint echo of a soft sweet voice, "Why, I am making myself beautiful for you." And she can still smell smoke, everywhere._

_Terror strikes at her, again, and she crawls on towards the sound of water. There is the doorway now, but the gap between the door and the door frame is much smaller than she thought. It takes all power she has left to worm herself through towards the sound of .... Not water running but a sweet little melody coming from inside the room. A music that draws her towards it, like a mother's sweet voice._

_When her eyes have got used to the light, she sees that she has crawled into a brightly lit white room, which is completely empty but for a music box on which a little dancer is turning and turning and turning._

_Her hand is drawn to touch it; she wishes to hold it, to never let it go, and to disappear into the sweet music that is playing, to become one with the music and disappear into it._

_Curled around the box, she tries to lose herself into the sweetness she hears but to no avail. Now there are voices, hissing voices, anguished voices, loud angry voices intermingled with the music, overlaying it, replacing it, one at a time or overlapping, female, male. She cannot make out everything the voices are whispering, screaming, shouting, except for a few words like_ whore _,_ madness _,_ traitor _,_ whore _again, and then silence, and people moaning, feet running, more whispers and screams,_ help me _,_ help her _,_ help them _, a hundred times, swelling into a stream of voices, then silence. From the other side of the room she hears water being poured into a glass._

_When she opens her eyes she sees someone leaning against the door frame of another door that wasn't there before. Clad in black, black hair gelled back, black eye-liner in the Egyptian fashion, his face stern and displeased. He is pouring himself a glass of whisky, and drowns it in one go._

_"Help me," she whispers, hoping against hope._

_He bends down to her, and says. "I, too, have known pain and suffering." And smiles a bitter smile._

_"Pain and suffering is at the beginning, in the middle, at the end. There is no running from pain and suffering. So you'd better embrace it, boy."_

_She knows suddenly that this is Blackwood, and that he isn't talking to her, indeed, that he hasn't even noticed her. He is looking at his reflection in the broken hand mirror that is lying next to the music box._

_"Help me," she whispers again, and grasps his ankle._

_As soon as she touches him, he tries to jump backwards, caught by surprise, and looks down at her, wide-eyed._

_"What..., Who are you?" He whispers hoarsely. "How did you get to where only I am, and my sins?" A pair of piercing blue eyes look at her right into the depths of her soul, seeing all her innermost secrets, including whatever terror it is she is running from._

_She still cannot remember who she is or what terror she is running from, but she can see that he can see. She tries hard but there are only two names that come to mind that are her and aren't her at the same time. "Blackwood. Spellman Whore." she offers, and holds on to his ankle, afraid the ground will open up underneath her and swallow her up if she lets go. Unbidden a third name comes to her, and fills her with a sadness so deep she would drown in it if she did not have this man's ankle to hold onto. "Beatrice", she whispers. "Beatrice."_

_His eyes look old and tired now. "I see," he says, and sighs. "The sins of the fathers." He bends down to pat her head, then pours her the very last of his whisky into his glass, and offers it to her. "Drink this. You can let go of me. There is no way further back from here for you, child. Not one I am willing to take you. This is your begining. Don't make it your end. You'd better try to sleep now. And both of us need to wake up."_

_She swallows, the liquid hot, burning and painful but still bringing welcome relief. He presses one hand on her head, and the other on her cheek, which seems like a blessing she may have received before, in a cool place, in her childhood, by another pair of hands. She feels less hot, and less afraid. Her eyelids drop, and she vaguely thinks that maybe, maybe, when she wakes up she will be safe._

***

So the Spellmans apply more spells, heat reducing this time, use more ointments, soak towels in apple vinegar and press them to Toni's hot brow, wrap them around feet and place them over her chest. Finally they fill an ice-bath.

As Zelda carefully ensures that the healing water dripping from Hilda's sponge does not choke her daughter instead of provide much needed liquid in small doses, she wonders whether she has taken the right decision not to act decisively from the start. You could, she thinks as she replaces the cold wet towel across her daugher's forehead, burn yourself touching her.

At least, her temperature is not rising any more.

Since Toni is not swallowing the liquid Hilda is cautiously dripping onto her lips and tongue, some of it is escaping from the left corner of her mouth. It worries Zelda that its colour has changed to a dark charcoal grey that reminds her of the few times when she was in mortal company and she actually washed her ash trays rather than magic the ash away. Even worse, she has seen saliva that colour before, oozing from a badly burnt body, more than twenty years ago.

"Maybe," Hilda suggests, hesitantly, "Maybe we should send for Prudence."

Zelda looks at her, startled. "Why?"

"Well, we've exhausted all that traditonal _Spellman_ family lore has to offer..."

Sabrina adds, "and all other witchcraft lore I have encountered in my travels. Maybe we should get her to a _mortal_ hospital, Aunties."

Hilda shakes her head a little. "I think we should ask Prudence first. Maybe she has knowledge of some specific kind of witchcraft, something that might ... Or some blood magic, just not the Spellwood kind..." She looks Zelda directly in the eye.

Sabrina opens her mouth to protest but then suddenly realizes what Hilda is saying and also stares at Zelda, who, for a moment, looks as if she has been hit in the solar plexus.

"Right." Zelda gets up, a look of determination on her face. "Let me deal with this. And don't you dare let anything happen to her while I'm gone."

She walks out of the room without looking back, her head held high.

***

It is nearly an hour later that Zelda comes back, not with Prudence but with a whisky bottle filled with some kind of dark brown, nearly black liquid in one hand and a little pink bucket, half-filled with dark soil, in the other. She is followed by Irene, Locasta, Agnes, and Julia. 

"She must drink this," she says, holding up the bottle.

When Hilda and Sabrina move to help, Zelda shakes her head. She is beyond caring what they will deduce from this.

"No, not you." She nods at her second daughter, who has been watching over Toni with her aunt and her cousin. "Selena, help me hold her head and shoulders, just as if they were a sleeping child's that needs to be fed. Irene and Locasta, each of you should take Toni by the hand, and hold Agnes's hands with the other, so you form a circle. Close your eyes, and focus. You are forming a circle of protection. And, Jules, you come round here and hold the bucket. She will throw up, and she must throw up into the bucket. You have not had your dark baptism yet so do not try to do anything else but hold the bucket. Selena will help with guiding her head. Just make sure your sister vomits into the bucket but do not look at what it is that comes out of her mouth. And do not touch anything. Leave that to me. And don't worry, you'll be doing this just fine. Sabrina, maybe you could just guard the door? From the outside? And Hilda, maybe check on the little ones, and your own?"

None of these are questions or requests really. Zelda expects to be obeyed. She is. A smile that is meant as reassurance but does not quite succeed, then Zelda focuses on what is ahead.

" _Bluot zi bluoda_ ", she murmurs. Then she opens her daughter's mouth and pours some of the liquid in.

As soon as the liquid enters her mouth, Toni starts shaking and coughing. She vomits for the first time.

***

When all is over, Toni's temperature has returned to normal, and she looks normal. She is back in Zelda's bed. She briefly opened her eyes, towards the end, looked at her mother, and distinctly said, "I'm sorry", only to fall into a deep healing sleep. 

All of Zelda's other daughters are fairly shaken, none more so than Julia. Of course, she looked. And she will not forget any time soon how, among the black liquid that seemed to conain wet ash and indescribable bits, her sister's blackened tongue, so much longer than one would think, came out and fell into the bucket, only to be stuffed back into her sister's mouth, together with some of the soaked soil, by her mother, again and again, and washed down by whatever it is she brought in that whisky bottle. Until it stuck, and Toni swallowed the rest of the liquid and all that she then spit out was clear like spring water. Julia knows she will never ever be able to drink whisky. She wonders whether she will be able to do witchcraft, if witchcraft is like this. She used to think witchcraft was spells, using your hands to make signs, words. This is so physical, so gross, so frightening. Even the protective circle her sisters created scared her, its power so strong that she felt it in every bone in her body, cursing through her bloodstream and vibrating in every muscle. 

***

Zelda gives each of her daughters a kiss and a hug, and thanks each of them. They have been amazing. Their sister would probably not have made it without them.

"She'll be alright," she says. She knows. She has seen that part of this kind of thing before. What she hasn't seen before and what still shocks her is the sheer power that emenated from her girls, not only from Irene, Locasta and Agnes, but, in the end, from all of them, even Toni. Such power when they are in unison, and a power that does not take from them but also gives back. She does not think they will have noticed because they are tired now, and probably still frightened, but all six of them show signs of having grown, not necessarily in height, but in vitality, for want of a better word, though Julia surely is a little bit taller than she was last night. She knew before that they were good together, but now that she _knows_ she sees this more clearly than ever before.

Even the babe she is carrying seems to have been affected. She would have thought that it would be a few more weeks before she could feel what she is feeling now. With a small sigh, mostly of happiness, she strokes her abdomen.

She thinks back to what Faustus said when she came to him, and the secret he shared with her, the second one she did not know he had. She expected to find him still asleep but he was up, not a hundred percent sober or awake yet, but already waiting for her.

She will have to trust him, she supposes.

With a certain clinical sense of detachment she realizes that part of her is glad, indeed, happy, while another feels that she has been forced into this. Only this time, it turns out, it is entirely her own fault.

What Faustus has been doing is just to amplify something that she herself has created. Once more, it strikes her how ambivalent her feelings are. Of course, she is proud. She apparently stumbled upon the most powerful kind of witchcraft possible, all by herself, at the tender age of eighteen and a half. Centuries ago. When her brother's mentor seemed so handsome, and so out of reach.

Of course, she is thrilled. She loves each and every one of her daughters with a fierce maternal love that is only growing stronger the older she gets. She may even be quite fond of Faustus, despite all. Or, if she is honest, more than fond. On the other hand, she cannot shake a sense of foreboding. Is it strange, she wonders, that one of the things she minds is that what Faustus has told her means that not all Spellmans are equal any more? She tells herself to pull herself together. She has been the High Priestess for a quarter of a century now. Of course, not all Spellmans are equal. 

***

Downstairs, Hilda and her daughters are nearly ready to leave. They are surrounded by Zelda's youngest ones, who hang on to their legs, and bury their faces in their dresses. Hilda wonders whether she should go upstairs, and check on Toni and Zelda and the older girls, but she also tells herself that she knows when she is not wanted. She tells herself that this is just Zelda being Zelda but she is also hurt. Well, she _has_ a home to go to, and she will. If only she could be sure that they are all okay.

***

Zelda may have started to walk down the stairs in High Priestess mode but as soon as she sees that her sister is about to leave, she starts crying. As genteely as possible although she would like to bawl her heart out, if she is honest. Of course Hilda has her own home, and it has been clear that this is a visit but she is going to miss her little sister so much. This is so embarassing. She hopes noone will notice the tears. Or mention them. Her little ones are making enough noise as it is.

***

Of course, Hilda's first thought is that Toni isn't well after all, but soon realizes that it is just Zelds being tired and emotional and sorry about having told her sister to leave the room, the little sister with whom she shared that bedroom and bathroom for so long and who has been such a rock she could rely on for so long now. The sister she loves. Which she does not exactly say but which Hilda gathers from the hug and the snivelled "Sorry" she receives.

***

They end up cleaning the house and having a late brunch together. It could, thinks Sabrina, be called lunch, but that would not include breakfast cereals and porridge, she supposes. Now that the past days and her aunt's birthday are over and Julia has declared that she wants to celebrate _her_ birthday in summer, on the day of her birthday plus half a year, Sabrina has decided that she herself will be leaving, too. There is a trip to Zagreb to prepare, and some more conferences and trips after that. She will be back, of course, and has promised Julia a special half-time present. It is a special year after all. She remembers well how she crossed days off that year before her sixteenth birthday.

Before they leave, they all troop up into Zelda's bedroom. 

Toni has had some broth, and looks quite recovered but still exhausted and not really well yet.

It appears that she cannot remember any of her illness. She cannot even remember how she ended up home. She cannot even remember why Beatrix and she decided to split up, she says, only that they are not together any more and that it is breaking her heart. Her right hand briefly touches the throat her mother has so lovingly covered with one of her leopard print scarves. 

Sabrina knows a lie when she hears one, and so, she sees, does Auntie Zee. Auntie Hilda seems more trusting. Ah well, it is Auntie Zee's problem now, she thinks, and she is her mother and the High Priestess after all. She has dealt with far worse, in the past, she supposes. 

Now that she knows whose daughter Toni really is she finds it hard to understand why she did not see the similarity before. But then neither Auntie Hilda nor Prue seem to ever have noticed, and they have seen much more of her cousin than she herself has. Toni always seemed a pleasant enough young witch, a sweet little girl who turned into a rebellious teen. Sabrina herself remembers the rows she herself had with Aunt Zelda. And she herself is more absent from Greendale than present, even though she never chose her mortal side over being a witch. Completely turning her back on her mother's family seemed drastic. Whatever happened and whatever will happen next, Toni probably does not like sharing her private life with so many relatives. What matters is that Toni is a Spellman. Fathers, as Sabrina herself has understood a long time ago, do not matter as much as family.

Poor Auntie Zee.

Sabrina sighs. She wishes she knew her cousin better so she could, maybe, help.

Before she leaves Greendale, she'll say goodbye to her friends. And to Prudence.

***

The house feels quiet and empty.

Her sister and nieces, including Sabrina, have left. She will see Hilda in a week, or two, at the Unholy Service, and the rest of them will be back for the next family occasion.

The girls are upstairs, reading, listening to music, playing. Selena is sitting by Toni's bed. She has asked whether she can keep watch over her, now that her older sister has fallen asleep again. Only Ludovica is on the sofa with her, curled up against her, her arms around Vinnie T, whispering secrets into the dog's ear. 

Zelda is having a cup of tea and is smoking. She has this morning's newspapers in a stack in front of her, on top of which she has placed the copy of the bound paper edition of the _Acta Diurna Maleficarum Maleficorumque_ whose bookmarked pages Faustus has asked her to read as soon as possible. At the time it had seemed unnecessary of him to ask her whether she still was using the spell that ensured that she did not only receive the local paper each morning but hidden in it, any number of international newspapers which might contain any news relating to the international witching community. If so, he told her to take a good look at the local pages of any Italian newspaper, probably a Roman one, she would have received this morning. And while she was eager to leave with the whisky bottle they had filled to save her, no, their daughter, he had held her back and pressed the _Acta Diurna_ into her hands. Now that she has found the relevant pages in _Il Messagero_ she knows why. She has also perused the relevant passages in the _Acta Diurna_. While she has understood what may have happened in Rome a day or so ago, and why Faustus wanted her to know about his parents' honeymoon and the rest, she is still processing what all of it means to them here and now. And that includes her own decision so long ago, to add some words to a spell she had been asked to create as craft work in the academy. And some of the bookmarks Faustus chose to use, as if she needed a reminder of her own honeymoon. She hates it when she feels he is manipulating her but then she has seen him use these photos as a bookmark before. It used to be one of the things they agreed on not talking about. Maybe it is just his way of saying they must, in light of what has happened.

She lights another cigarette and looks down on her youngest whispering secrets into her familiar's ears. She knows that some people think that she does not know or refuses to admit that Vinnie T is dead and just a stuffed animal, but that is not the case. Unlike other witches, a precocious Zelda Spellman was found by her familiar a long time before attending the _Unholy Academy_ was on her horizon. Indeed Vinnie T found her when she was three years of age, and became the most beloved of pets as well as her ally. Unfortunately Hilda was fond of him, too, a mutual affection that Zelda, age seven, had felt so angry and jealous about that she had had one of her tantrums. This was when she learnt about the special properties of the Cain pit. Hilda, thank Satan, had come back, unscathed, if a little frightened. Vinnie T had not. So Zelda had dug out the body and then held on to her stuffed familiar as a reminder to herself that actions had consequences, that there was a price to be paid for self-indulgence, and that she had better only let her temper fly if she knew she could foresee what would happen next.

It fills her with bitterness that she has not been able to pass that insight on to the next generation of Spellmans. Or Blackwood-Spellmans.

She will, she decides, let it go until the next day. 

Tomorrow she will reread the article, look at the pictures again, and reread the entries in the _Acta Diurna_. Tomorrow she will see if she can talk to Toni, and see what she really remembers or doesn't remember once she has eaten some of Hilda's truth cake from the freezer. Tomorrow she will talk to Faustus again, and make sure she has understood all he had to say. Tomorrow she will decide how to proceed, but today she will simply find an empty bed and sleep, once she has made sure the little ones have been fed, watered (she smiles at Hilda's old joke) and put to bed.

Tomorrow she will see how her first-born can be saved from herself. Whatever the price may be, Zelda will make sure that Toni's life will not be destroyed by this.

And, she decides, now that the little one is making her (or his) presence known, it is time she stopped smoking for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Faustus's secret revealed to Zelda? What exactly has he been up to and why does she concede so quickly? Not to worry, details to follow in later chapters. We need his perspective, too, but there was no room in this chapter at all.
> 
>  _Bluot zi bluoda_ : Old High German, blood to blood, from one of the [Merseburg Charms](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Merseburg_charms).
> 
>  _Acta Diurna Maleficarum Maleficorumque_. A kind of daily newspaper for witches and warlocks from Roman times. The [Acta Diurna](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acta_Diurna) were a kind of Roman newspaper of sorts, carved into stone.


	15. Down By the Banks of the Tiber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia and Toni uncover truths. The Power of the Spellman girls saves the day. Faustus and Zelda become one, once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on the same day as chapter 14. Please read 14 first, or this will make no sense. :) 
> 
> Sorry for the Latin and Greek versions for Blackwood, - I used dictionaries to translate black and forest, and transformed this into a male version for Faustus's father.
> 
> It turns out family dysfunction is inherited from generation to generation.

It is nine p.m., and most in the Spellman household are fast sleep.

There are two exceptions. 

***

Toni Mayhew, née Spellman, is staring at the ceiling of her mother's bedroom. Her sister Selena is snoring in the other bed, the one that used to be Aunt Hilda's. 

Toni has woken up with a headache. She is not sure why she is in Greendale. All she knows is that every inch of her body hurts, especially her throat, and that she must have been sick for her sister and her to sleep in her mother's room. Her mother is not here, that much she can tell, but she must have been because Selena would never dare to give her one of her mother's weird animal print PJs. She wonders where Beatrice is. That thought causes her to panic for a moment, and she has difficulties getting her breathing to normal. No, Beatrice can't be here because Beatrice decided that she would leave her, didn't she? She can remember holding a card but not exactly what it said, only how angry she felt by the irrelevant fact that she was being dumped on the back of a picture postcard that showed a clown handing out balloons.

This is frightening.

Toni lies still and continues to stare at the ceiling above her. If only she could remember, she tells herself.

***

Noone has called Julia Spellman from her special place on the roof. She has been trying to read her comic book but has not been able to concentrate. There are too many things going through her mind. Things she would prefer not to think about but that she returns to. Like her sister's tongue, black, burnt and blistered, falling out of her mouth and being put back in again. Mostly that, but her brain also keeps harping back to the look Auntie Hilda gave her mother when she mentioned something about Prudence, and the way her mother looked back at Auntie Hilda, before the Cerberuses left. Something about Prudence being related to them, no to Toni, and that Prudence needed to be told Toni was well. Toni related to Prudence.

How?

More family secrets.

***

Toni gets up to go to the bathroom.

She recoils with fright but realizes there is no dark man waiting for her. It is her own reflection in the bathroom mirror.

She stares at a pale face, with dark circles under her eyes, bright blue eyes wide open and reminding her of something she cannot quite put her finger on. Her tongue and mouth are sore and there is a mark of sorts around her neck. Drinking a glass of water from the tap hurts like heaven.

She takes off her pyjama top.

Nothing to be seen on the ouside of her chest, which burns from the water she has just drunk. Her breasts as pert as ever. But her forearms. O Lilith, her forearms. There are scratches and bitemarks.

And not the kind she used to get when she and Beatrice were having special fun.

Beatrice.

She stares into the flame of the candle that someone has left next to the bathroom mirror.

***

Julia has decided that she is hungry, and has found something to eat and drink in the kitchen. 

She is sitting where her mother was sitting earlier, as indicated by the presence of Vinnie T on the sofa, and the pile of newspapers over a book of sorts on the table.

The fire in the fireplace has not yet fully burnt down, and Julia feels comfortable where she is, with a mug of hot milk and some cereals. She reaches over to grab a newspaper.

Julia has a habit of filching her mother's newspapers and reading them, less for the politics her mother is so interested in than for any kind of information that strikes her as interesting. She has a long number of entries in her secret diary based on matters she found out from the newspapers. Ever since she found out that all Indo-European languages can be easily translated by a slight change to a translation spell she picked up from reading in Selena's spell exercise book, she has been including foreign facts.

Normally her mother does not seem to mind Julia taking the newspapers, indeed, she has encouraged her with a little smile before, when she caught her reading them. This time, however, there is a strong spell which hits Julia's hand as she tries to take one of the papers.

Her curiosity is awakened. She probably shouldn't but she will.

What her mother does not know is how far Julia has proceeded in the art of undoing locking spells since she found her uncle's diary.

***

Toni decides that she cannot go back to bed. 

Her heart is hammering as she walks down the stairs. For a moment she thinks it is her mother's hair she sees glinting in the light from the fireplace and the lamp but then she realises it is Julia, who is sitting on the sofa, lost in a book, a photo and a heap of newspapers next to her.

Toni decides that she might as well join her. She should probably thank her again anyway, for what she understands she has done.

***

Julia does not hear Toni approach but notices her when she takes the papers from the sofa and puts them on the floor so she can sit down next to her.

Startled, she looks up. Her sister looks terrible, with dark marks under her eyes and around her throat. Even her smile is restrained. 

"Sorry," they both say at the same time. 

Toni picks up the photo that has slid down as well. She hands it to Julia, who she has known to use all kinds of everything as bookmarks.

"Were you using this as a bookmark?", she asks, her voice still quite throaty. Then what is on the photo catches her attention. It is her mother, in their church, in one of her resplendent gowns, in a crown, a knife in hand, next to a tall dark stranger, in even more resplendent robes. A stranger? Somehow she feels she has seen this warlock before, somewhere, recently. 

Julia takes the photo and puts it into the back of the book she has been reading, and hands Toni another photo. "No, I found that one in the book; this one was the bookmark."

Julia observes her sister scrutinize the photo.

***

Toni looks at the second photo. It clearly was taken not much later, in Rome, since her mother and the strange warlock, now dressed in what her mother refers to as _civilian_ clothes, are standing in front of the _Fontana di Trevi_ just like she and Beatrice did on their second day there. Somewhere in a phone someone will have a photo of her and Beatrice, looking as happy as the couple on the photo. Happier probably, because there is something strained in her mother's broad smile. The warlock she thinks she has seen before has his arm possessively around her mother's waist. One cannot really tell how they feel because their eyes are hidden by dark sunglasses but Toni notices that her mother is holding her hands protectively over her abdomen. 

"I think," Julia says after a while, "I think, this might be your father. Not the train conductor who was thrown off the train. Your real one. I mean how else would you be related to Prudence? After all, why would it be a secret if it was someone else?" She pauses. "Father Blackwood." Another pause. "The one who killed everyone in the coven, or tried to. If you look at him on the other photo, you kind of look like him." She pauses again. "This one was from their honeymoon, I think. They were married and went to Rome before all that horrible stuff happened. Although I think some horrible stuff had already happened before. I think he was trying to murder Cousin Ambrose. I'm sorry, Toni. He is a shitty person to be descended from," she adds with the moral certitude of her fifteen years, "but it is not your fault. After all, you have Mom's genes to counteract all that. And all of us as sisters, and we don't care. You still are and always will be one of us."

Toni just stares at her sister, speechless.

"Are you alright?" Julia asks, now suddenly seeming to realise that maybe her desire to impart all she has found out to her sister was misplaced. After all, her face says, Toni is still recovering from whatever that illness was and has just broken up with her wife. "I'm so sorry if..."

Toni is an adult and she knows how to smile reassuringly. She is not alright, far from it, but this is her little sister, and none of this mess is her fault.

Relieved, Julia turns her attention back to her book.

Toni continues staring at her parents in front of that fountain. For some reason, the phrase "pain and suffering" is echoing in her head. A dream. That is what it was. She has seen him in a dream, telling her to live. A murderer telling _her_ to live.

To distract herself, Toni picks up a newspaper from the floor.

It is yesterday's _Il Messagero_ and on an inside page there is a large picture of herself and Beatrice in front of the _Fontana die Trevi_ , the photo of a young Italian woman with a black eye and a split lip, and one of of a burnt out room in an abandoned house in a side street. Finally, they included a picture of her passport, issued under the name _Antoinette Mayhew_ , with a false date and place of birth. The headline runs, _Giovanne Moglie Sospettata di Omicidio_. She does not need to know what the Italian text says because, now, she does remember. 

She remembers the stupid jealousy that made her such a pain, how she would not go out with Beatrice because Beatrice, who had assured her, again and again, that that was not the case, would only flirt with some young woman or other.

She remembers the note Beatrice left on the back of that stupid clown card. She had written that she was hungry and it was their honeymoon, and if Toni had calmed down, she could come and join her in their special place, the one they had discovered on their first night in Rome.

She remembers feeling both ashamed and angry, but not able to help the overwhelming sense of white burning hatred at seeing her wife, _her_ wife flirting with the waitress.

Beatrice is, no _was_ twenty years older than her, a sophisticated briliant wonderful woman, and Toni has never understood why Beatrice fell for her, when there were so many more beautiful young women who she could have chosen from.

She remembers hitting the waitress, and dragging Beatrice away, with so much more power and speed than a mortal would have had, to an abandoned house in an empty side street.

She remembers hitting Beatrice, and the deep strong mad feeling coursing through her veins, that feeling she decided to give in to, and the almost glee she felt when she put her hands around her wife's neck and pressed until all life had left her. She would be smiling at noone any more.

She remembers the utter despair and remorse that set in immediately. She remembers crying and screaming at Beatrice to wake up.

She remembers realizing that there was no spell and no other element of witchcraft that could bring her mortal wife back to life. She remembered her mother's lessons on this exact point, the difference between Spellmans who could be resurrected and the rest of the world and the realms who could not, or there would be consequences. 

She remembers how she would not have minded consequences if only there was a way, and knowing there wasn't.

She remembers how glad she was finding coils of rope in one corner of the room. 

She remembers how the first rope she tried to hang herself with broke, and the second, and how she started throwing herself against the wall and screaming in frustation at her inabiliy to die, and flames suddenly leaping from the old oven she could have sworn was out, and envelope everything around her. And an explosion.

She remembers how, for a moment, she thought she was in the Great Greendale Fire that happened the year before she had her Dark Baptism.

She remembers waking up under a bridge, from the sound of fire engines, and the police sirens.

She remembers walking towards the burning house to give herself up, when an overwhelming sense of homesickness made her change her mind. She remembers the broom leaning against a door that would take her home.

Toni knows that she does not want any of her sisters to know that, despite all they have done for her and all that Julia has just said, she is a Blackwood through and through.

***

Julia looks up when she hears the fire flare up. Toni has thrown all the newspapers into the fireplace. She adds two small pieces of wood.

"It was turning cold," she says, and smiles one of her rare smiles. "I think I will turn in now, little sis. Don't stay up too long."

Julia sees her big sister walk towards the staircase and turn round, once more. "I love you all, Jules, but you especially. Remember that, okay? Promise?"

Julia nods, and her sister smiles another smile, and continues her way upstairs.

***

When Julia has turned back to the pages she has been translating and is once more engrossed in her book, her sister turns round, and quietly makes her way down and towards the stairs that will take her down to the mortuary. 

She hopes that her mother keeps something to write there, and something that will help her on the way she has decided to take. Her mother, of all people, should be relieved that she has decided to take away this stain from her.

Toni will ask her mother not to bury her in the pit, and not to tell her sisters what exactly happened. And she will apologize to her for having been a burden from the moment she was conceived.

***

Julia does not notice. The description of how one elderly warlock, named Augustus Silvanus Niger, nearly murdered his new wife Gracia Faustina and her lover on their honeymoon in the reign of Tiberius and committed suicide by self strangulation is too interesting. Another bit of news announces the birth of a boy. This passage is marked in the book by another photo of her mother on her honeymoon, in a pretty dress holding a wooden box with a wee ballet dancer on it. She is smiling at whoever is taking the photo.

It turned out that the young wife, Gracia Faustina, had been kept alive for another year and was delivered, by Caesarean section, of a boy and a stillborn twin, the latter the size of a plum. She died the same day that her baby boy was given the name _Faustus Cincinnatus_ because of his black curly locks. 

"How strange," Julia thinks. If she remembers correctly, her mother's honeymoon with the murderous Faustus Blackwood is never talked about because something there also went terribly wrong. Apart from everything that that monster did to the coven, which means he is not talked about anyway.

Thinking about how he had to survive in a dying mother's belly next to a dead twin for months, before seeing this world, she feels she can nearly pity him.

Another piece of news talks of how _Faustus Cincinnatus_ , aged seven, was adopted by his paternal grandfather, named _Acestes Mávro Dásos_ a Sicilian of Greek descent, a retired army general and a black warlock, and his Egyptian-Greek wife but only after three kinds of Satanic tests established that he was, indeed, a Blackwood, and not merely an orphan. The Dark Lord himself attended the adoption ceremony, it is reported, with his lovely companion Lilith taking over the nominal duty of nightmother. This last bit of information is marked in the book by a piece of paper. Across it Julia's mother has written versions of her name in various scripts, as if she was trying out which would look best _Zelda Blackwood-Spellman_ , _Zelda Blackwood_ and _Zelda Spellman-Blackwood_.

A final fourth book mark is a bit of fabric, with some gold embroidery on it. The passage does not seem to have anything to do with the Blackwoods, or, at first glance, with the Spellmans. In a footnote it is explained that the shipping of grain from Sicily, which was owned by a warlock called Quintus Minor at the time, went back to a dubious inheritance. Apparently an ancestor of that warlock had adopted a bastard (?) son he had had with a witch who was the daughter of a _vir carminorum_ ( a man of spells, oh! Maybe a Spellman, after all!) and married to a dark wizard or warlock. That Quintus ancestor adopted his own son, born out of wedlock, because the dark warlock married to the child's mother had paid him to do so. With that money, he had bought his first ship. Someone has added and tried to erase the handwritten words _First but not last Spellman whore_ with three exclamation marks.

It does not occur to Julia that all of this information was spell-locked by her mother because it was meant for no one but her for a reason.

***

It is five a.m., and most of Greendale is asleep. Most mortals haven't yet begun the day, except for Mr Cassidy, the baker, and Billy and Joe, the two newspaper boys, whose paper rounds start before the sun rises. Almost all members of the Greendale coven and its splinter groups are fast asleep.

***

Faustus Cincinnatus Blackwood is still up, waiting for Zelda to return. He knows it is unreasonable to expect her to come back to him before later that day but he has a heavy heart, indeed he is kept awake by an overwhelming sense of doom. He does not sense a death but when he closes his eyes he hears his own voice repeat, "pain and suffering" as if on a loop. He has given up on his embroidery since the needle with the golden thread seems to go against him this night. The knots and meanders on the fabric he has been working on for nearly as many years as he has been able to use his hands again feel contrary, and he is afraid he will damage the piece if he continues his work. 

There is nothing he can do but wait.

***

Most of the Spellman girls in the Spellman house are asleep, some in their own beds, Selena in her aunt's and Julia on the sofa. They are asleep until they are woken by a wailing sound, muffled by walls but loud and insistent enough, to wake them up. It comes from the door to the mortuary that has been left open, and it consists of two voices.

They are joined, by the wailing voices of the three youngest Spellmans, who are woken up by the racket, feel scared and respond instinctively, by joining in.

When the Spellwood girls have finally scrambled to the mortuary, the youngest ones carried by older sisters, the wailing has stopped. What they see is their mother sitting on the floor and holding their eldest sister, who has a piece of cloth around her neck. Their mother is rocking back and forth, and, in a hoarse whisper, keeps repeating the words, "My babe, my own babe" over and over again. Their sister has her face turned away from them, but they can hear her words, too, in a low rough voice, even less audible than their mother's".

"Why can't I die? I need to die. I must die."

Instinctively, the Spellman girls form a circle around their mother and sister, and in the family hug that is formed, there is warmth, and healing, of sorts, and solace. There is Power.

When they break up, after a long while, their sister looks physically well, the dark marks and other wounds she displayed on her skin are gone, and, where she used to feel despair, there is a numbness, and a sense that one day, maybe, she might aspire to something akin to peace. 

Zelda, who has allowed the wave of power that comes from her daughers lift her from the floor, feels loved and protected. It amazes her how much power the daughters she has been so protective of create when they act together. She is tempted to give herself up to this power, but she pulls herself together. As wonderful as this feels, she will need to figure out how this works, and how it can be used without being abused, or turning against them. This is a new kind of witchcraft, and it is her responsibility to come up with some rules to keep everyone safe.

The first rule she applies is to send everyone back to bed. They are not to get up before nine o'clock, when she will have made breakfast for all. A kiss and a hug for each, and she sends them on their way.

When they have obeyed, even Toni, she speaks a sleeping spell, to make sure that none of them leave their beds any more, and a protection spell, to see that neither fire, water, air and ground nor witchcraft or mortal evil do no harm to this house and those in it while she is out of it.

Before she leaves, she takes note of the burnt newspapers in the fireplace, and picks up the book that is lying on the sofa. So one or more of them have seen. Probably Toni. She will have to talk to Toni. Later, after breakfast.

***

Faustus is still sitting on his chair, the embroidery in his hands, his heart heavy.

He hears her come in, and lifts his head, and wonders how such radiant beauty is possible.

He feels a wave of power go through him, as she puts her arms around him.

"All well?" he asks.

"All well," she answers, "but it was a close shave." She begins kissing the side of his neck, and starts pulling him up. She knows what he has been holding but she makes light of it. "Put that old thing away, and take me to bed, Faustus."

He obeys.

They will have to talk, but right now, it is their bodies who will do the talking, gently, sweetly, and then more urgently. It will not take long until they are spent but they will go about reestablishing their marriage as thoroughly as they can before they both get some much needed sleep.

Before he falls asleep Faustus puts a hand on her abdomen, stroking it gently. 

***

It is six o'clock, and except for the baker and the two newspaper boys, all of Greendale is asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, still no complete explanation of what Faustus's embroidery is but maybe you can already guess from the various bits of information so far. It will be fully explained later, possibly only at the very end of this tale.
> 
>  _Giovanne Moglie Sospettata di Omicidio_ is Italian and hopefully means _Young Wife Murder Suspect_
> 
>  _Down By the Banks of the Tiber_ is derived from the song about a spurned lover who kills his love by the banks of the Ohio in the folk song of that name.
> 
> I'd love to hear from you if you are inclined to leave a comment, whatever you have to say, or if you have a question.


	16. A Day at a Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zelda realizes that after sex is the moment for more sex.
> 
> Life is all you have. So you live on. One day at a time. You hold your head high, and do your best. And you take one step after the other. That is what Zelda has always done, it is what she'll continue to do and the advice she will give her daughters.
> 
> Their marriage is changing. Can Faustus continue to evolve or will he be claimed by the Old Faustus?
> 
> A person can be alive but not feel alive.
> 
> Julia is wondering what to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: It's very explicit until you get to the four asteriskes. ****

Zelda wakes with a start. It's an hour or so before she even needs to think about getting up, she figures, but she is wide awake, ready to face the day, one step at a time. 

A cat wash here, to get rid of the smell of... 

Faustus stirs behind her. He mumbles something into her hair, and starts nuzzling her neck. He shifts and his hand moves towards her breasts, doing something that's between fondling and squeezing, gently, to find comfort rather than in arousal, it seems. Although, if he doesn't fall asleep again, that might be his next move. 

She hears him mutter the first syllable of her name. Good, so he knows who he is with. 

A thigh moves between hers, and his hand settles down under her breasts. Some more mumbling from behind, in a voice even deeper than usual, more grumbling sound than actual words. Something between a growl and a sigh. _Mmm_. 

_Mmm_ , indeed. It seems a miracle to her how his voice can still reach into her deepest core and make her want to respond in kind, to whatever it is offering. Intellect to intellect. Anger to anger. Comfort to comfort. Comfort to hurt, too, these days. Lust to lust. _Mmm_. 

Should she ever be called upon to rise from the dead, she thinks, it won't be the sounds of the screams of hell, or, Satan forbid, heavenly trumpets that will raise her but only this, his voice. Even if it is as nearly inaudible as his next _mmm_ is. 

She moves her bum closer to his body, and wiggles it, both to get herself in a more comfortable position, and to see whether he can be made to respond, maybe even wake up.

His next _Mmm_ is louder again, and more of a question than just a response. She wiggles her bum some more as an answer, and adds her own sultry _Mmm_ to ask whether he is up for it. Not too demanding, ready to back off, but hopefully making quite clear that, if he is up to it, so is she.

His hand moves down until it rests on her abdomen, gently strokes it, and then stills to hold her. She isn't quite sure what this means. Does he know a babe is on the way, or is he just expressing the last bit of possessiveness she is allowing him? Holding her and the place that is the source of their joint power as if both were his dominion.

For a short moment anyway because she knows it will make him happy. But not too long so as not to give him any ideas. The days of her subservience are truly over, and have been for a long time.

And yet she, too, enjoys being held.

Zelda places her hand over his, gently, rubs her arse against him some more and growls a little to make him move on. It comes out like a hungry cat's mewl, which makes them both snigger. She can feel his cock hardening even more, and she repeats the sound, only in a much slower and sultry fashion. 

His cock responds instantly. 

Oh, she can play him as masterfully as if she was a virtuoso violinist.

His hand moves downward, his fingers playing with her, rubbing her, kneading her, pressing, gliding, stroking, drumming.

If she knows to play him, he does the same, when it comes to her pleasure.

She likes to think of her pleasure as more complex, more multidimensional than his, but by Lilith, if it is like a choir, he does know how to conduct it to the finest rendering of the most unholy polyphonic harmonies she can imagine ever written by any composer. 

She opens her legs wider so his fingers gain better access, to do more of this, across her wetlands, faster and deeper. Yes. 

His other hand has found that area on her inner thigh, the gentle squeezing of which will send her to the deepest pits of hell, especially when his nails, his nails keep... Yes. Oh yes. Yesyesyes.

Yes. 

When she has found her breath again, he growls one of his brief rumbling laughs, obviously pleased, and still excited. No, there is no need to ask her whether it was good for her. Now it'll be his turn. 

"Zelda." Despite just having caught her breath, his voice stirs her lust. Again. "Turn around."

She rolls on her back and opens herself, wide. 

No need for anything but the sight of his tousled hair, his still not fully open blue eyes and his sweaty body to get her juices flow again. Oh yes. 

She licks her lips in anticipation. 

He grins his cocky smile, before looking serious again, focused. If they hadn't been here before, his stern glare would frighten her. How beautiful his eyes are when he looks at her like this, their blue nearly black. 

She lifts her chin, smiles that half smile she knows drives him crazy, and looks right back at him. 

As his prick enters her cunt, and his body moves between her thighs, first slowly and deliberately, then in a rhythm that is getting increasingly fast and furious, she rubs an index finger in that spot between her golden curled triangle. Her other hand reaches for his hair, his tattoos, his arse, his shoulders, any part that comes her way. 

Oh yes. 

How beautiful he is, such a wonderful specimen of concentrated warlock energy. All of it directed towards her, moving inside her, reaching out to every fibre of her body, washing over her like the salty sea and carrying her with it.

His hair is a mess, and his face still has this serious look that he will only lose when he finally comes. 

She loves seeing his face change when he does but this time she won't. 

He does that thing he sometimes does, a sudden movement to one side as if he was riding an unruly horse. Yes. A horse galloping across a shore when the tide is coming in, over sand and salty water, into the sea, horse and rider dragging her with them until she is carried off by a huge wave. 

She comes before he does, and when she opens her eyes again, his face has already changed. Indeed, his eyes are actually twinkling, as he is looking down at her, and he is grinning his most diabolical grin. 

It appears that he has won, in whatever competition it is he thinks they are having. 

Satan, he's such a, such a _warlock_ sometimes. But then, that's what drew her to him, in the first place. 

She smiles her sweetest smile. No, actually she's grinning. Grinning right back at him. 

He accepts a cigarette. The entwining curling clouds of smoke that rise in the direction of what is now her unholy meeting place rather than his give the scene something of a peace ceremony they have forgotten was necessary. 

Their moment of pure unadulterated _joie de vivre_ only lasts for a minute or two. 

Then Zelda remembers the time and her children, born and unborn. 

It is time for her to go home and look after their offspring. After all it is the last full day they'll have before the older girls return to boarding at the Academy. 

Faustus has fallen asleep again. One day, she thinks, she will be able to stay and linger. Today is not that day.

****

Selena has been busy in the kitchen. Making breakfast for so many of them takes time. They're all still fast asleep but today it matters that Toni gets a special breakfast, whether she decides to eat it or not. Something delicious to make her feel at home, to make her feel she belongs. Something easy to swallow though. 

Who knows whether their mother will be back in time from wherever it is she has disappeared to.

No, that is unfair. It is early yet. Mother often spends some time in the morning in solitary prayer at church. She must, of course. She is the High Priestess after all. 

One day, Selena prays, she herself will be among the Chosen, who do not only serve Lilith and the coven as head girls or later as Elders but in unholy office. Until then she cannot know exactly what unholy duties her mother has been called upon to fulfil. As she counts plates, cups and saucers, the unworthy thought occurs to her that she hopes that priesthood does not mean that she herself will also have to give birth to so many Spellmans. She wouldn't mind having children, later, not too soon, but some time, maybe in a century or so. She would not even mind having a family of her own if she must. But wouldn't fewer births be enough? Five, or three? Or one to show willingness? She vaguely remembers there is some demonology and witching power game calculations involved in this but she hopes that a witch's preferences should count for something...

A noise makes her turn round and there, in the kitchen door, is her mother, smiling at her and looking radiant. She is ever so slightly disheveled, and her make-up is slightly less than perfect. Selena, who has inherited her mother's strong belief in things being just so, can't help wondering why for the briefest of moments. 

"Good morning, sweetheart. It's awfully early for you to be up on the last morning before school."

"It's your last morning to sleep in, too, Mum." And because if her mother won't show her responsible adult self, Selina feels that she herself must. "And everybody's fine. Toni's fast asleep. I checked on them before I started cleaning up and..."

Before Selina has finished the sentence, her mother is by her side and gives her a quick kiss. Zelda is not the most physically demonstrative of mothers, which makes those times when she is all the more impactful. Selina's nose picks up the smell of cold cigarette smoke that made her swear to herself she would never start smoking. Then there is that floral and then surprisingly warm, spicy, and dark scent her mother is wearing that is so much richer and more complex than her day-to-day perfume. Once they reach a certain age, they all have tried to find that bottle somewhere in the house but none of them have been successful, not even Julia, the little snoop.

"You're getting so grown up, Selina. I'm so proud of you, love."

"I'm not a child anymore. I'm twenty-one, and in my last year. Of course I'm grown up."

Her mother squeezes her a little harder and smiles, this time a little ironically. But still quite fondly. "You have centuries ahead of you to be grown up in, Selina. No need to rush. Why don't you go back to bed and let me take over. Humour your mother. It's the last breakfast we'll have together as a family before the Academy starts, so let me take care of this."

And with these words, Selina is gently pushed towards the door. 

Selina obediently moves towards the door but then turns round. 

Her mother is still smiling, but at herself, and is humming that little ditty she uses to teach them music, as she rearranges the plates to her liking.

From the doorframe, Selina watches her for a while. Humming. Not actually smoking. Smiling. Broody, maybe, but probably and more likely already expecting. Selina has seen this before. One more sister to look forward to so. Unless it's a brother this time. 

"What is it, Selena?" 

Selina has been caught staring.

She doesn't quite know how to respond, and comes out with, "Will she be alright?"

"Toni?" 

Selina nods.

Her mother stops what she is doing, points to one of the kitchen chairs and sits down herself.

Selina follows her example.

Her mother's face is serious now, and Selina realizes that beneath her good mood there was also exhaustion.

"I don't know, Selina. It's a terrible thing that happened, and she obviously has not been herself." A slight pause, and Selina is old enough to realize that her mother is afraid that Toni has been herself, that she is the kind of person who will keep trying to kill herself. Apart from whatever exactly it was that happened before she came home.

"You know, Selina, we can all only do our best, one day at a time. I will have to talk to Toni first, before you and I can discuss this further. But I do blame myself for her fascination with the mortal world. Engaging too much with mortals always leads to suffering. They are so breakable and no lasting good has ever come out of crossing this boundary for the mortals involved. Not that we can't break each other's hearts, too. But we're more resilient on the whole."

Another worried look shows that the thought has crossed her mother's mind that, maybe, Toni isn't resilient after all. Then she seems to be taking comfort from somewhere because her face becomes quite still and calm. 

"Life does not always go the way we want it, Selina, but we need to stand up again when we are down and continue with it because it is all we have. When we are young we tend to see matters in black and white but they rarely are. We just need to go on, with as much grace and kindness as we can muster and take comfort in each other, and strength." Another thought. This time unreadable, half sad, half proud. "That goes especially for sisters, Selina. Sisterhood is special. Your sisters and you are special, and you can be so much more together than each of you can be individually."

Selina feels she knows what strength her mother is talking about; she has felt it when they unite their powers to achieve some witchcraft, but at the same time she senses that there is something she is not being told. Now does not seem the time to start asking her mother questions, though. Her mother is talking about Toni again.

"It's always been difficult for Toni, Selina, and I know you noticed. Don't think I have not seen and appreciated the love, kindness and admiration you have always had for your older sister, whatever mood she was in, and however difficult she was towards you all. You especially. But you have to understand," and here her mother looks even sadder than before, "I thought they'd take her and sacrifice her. And it was such a mad, busy time until we settled down to the way it is now. So she grew up feeling second-best, and that in turn... But that's really between her and me, Selina. Even if you, as the next in line, have had to bear the brunt of much of this, too. I'm sorry for that. There's always a price to pay, and, unfortunately, sometimes it is not paid by you but by those around you. Maybe when you are really grown up, you will understand. Maybe not. But you are old enough now to realize that your mother, too, is dealing with everything one step at a time, one day at a time, as best as she can. And that's what Toni will have to do, too. And I am sure that your being there for her will really help her, Linny."

For once, being called by her baby name feels right to Selina.

"We could prepare breakfast together, couldn't we, Mum? What was it you said? Stronger together?"

Zelda actually laughs at this, and nods her agreement. "Alright, sweetheart. Stronger together, that can be our motto for the day."

They do, and as the morning progresses, they are joined by Irene, Locasta, Agnes, Jules, Anna, Claudina, Cassy, Lissy, Pin and Vicky. Her gang. Her sisters. 

***

He wakes up again, alone.

Alone. Through the haze of loneliness that has descended on him he strains to sense his daughters' power, which he can just about detect out there, like the buzzing of power lines on a hot golden summer's day. They must all be together, probably having breakfast. Together. 

He cannot be sure how many there are, because for a few years in the beginning, he was not paying attention whether the babes Zelda brought to him for an old-fashioned Satanic blessing were hers or not. Would he recognize them if he saw them face to face? He believes he would. He surely would be able to sense their power and connectedness, that particular golden buzz that is specifically theirs and that he can sense under his fingers whenever he works on further embroidering Zelda's spell. 

After all, he even recognised their oldest daughter for what she was, although he only saw her in a nightmare place.

Faustus shudders at the memory of that moment when he found himself facing her in that space in his mind he sometimes goes to when he needs to take a look at himself and wishes to avoid being pulled _there_ , into the other place.

His sleep had been dreamless but then there they were, looking at each other. For the briefest, most horrible of moments, he thought he had gone mad and, in one of his nightmare journeys back to the beginning of time come across himself, crawling out of the mouth of hell. Not him, a mirror image come alive. Then a closer look revealed this blue-eyed thing to be a witch, young, female, desparate, hurting.

A Blackwood, obviously, somehow, horribly connected to him, come for him.

His still-born twin come to devour him for being the one who lived.

One of those abominations born to his wives he thought it best to kill at birth to safeguard the bloodline, come for revenge.

When he looked into her eyes, he saw. A murderer, an angry soul in despair, another Blackwood. Another monster in a long line of monsters.

His spawn.

Then he sensed the thin golden threads that were keeping the fire of her power alive, which was smoldering weakly inside her, and keeping her from being dragged into a gaping black tunnel of despair, anger and nothingness that was threatening to pull all of her in. A ragdoll held together by fine golden threads, maybe a baker's dozen or so, and one of them quite frayed but just holding together. And there, a thin rope made of hair golden-red and black entwined together, too. A Blackwood, to be sure, but also a Spellman, one of the promised ones. Brought to this by being like him and the Blackwoods before him, his child, and yet also his twin.

He wonders how she is.

She cannot be fine. Murder comes in different shades of monochrome. Some murders are glorious, others even pleasurable, others just something that needs to be done. For revenge, power, or sheer necessity. Yet a different kind can hardly be called murder, all response, reaction, committed in the heat of the moment, unlike those planned over centuries in cold blood. Most in the old warlock tradition would argue that all of them strengthen your power. Blackwood warlocks, born to the darkest warlock family of them all, always learn that this is not necessarily the case. Some murders break your heart.

But you must never show this weakness. Unless ... 

He lets his mind wander to Zelda. She who ended up making all the difference to who he is becoming.

Now they have started crossing the boundaries so carefully set a decade ago, this will affect who they are, and who they are to each other. The decisions he takes now will affect their daughters and the power they can yield. Words matter. Once spoken about, there is no way their power and its source can be ignored again. Being known by more than him will affect the power that can be yielded through them, too. Is that wise? What could that power do to him or them, in the hands of the wrong witch or warlock?

Like the Old Faustus.

The Old Faustus was a fool, worse than an idiot, his egotistical scheming pointless and stupid, a vain and self-absorbed poser, unable to see what true power was right there in front of his eyes. The Old Faustus is someone he has learnt to abhor, but like many a recovering addict he fears the return of what he hopes he has conquered. Maybe it is only this sheltered if limited existence that has allowed him to go beyond the ambitions of the dark orphan he once was, the one who swore to himself that one day it would be he, and he alone, who would rule over all he could survey, so help him Satan. He alone, even if it meant that he had to destroy everything and everybody in his way. He alone, who would defy even the Dark Lord, to the greater glory of the name of Blackwood.

_The power of the individual parts of a spell, even when added up, is always less than the power of their sum._

Faustus remembers scratching this sentence on his first wooden tablet, when his grandparents had finally taken him in, and his grandfather had started teaching him spellwork. Had he not been so focused on making no mistakes that could incite his grandfather's ire and paid more attention to the actual content of what he was writing he could have known there and then.

_The power of the sum is always greater than its parts._

His thoughts turn to the witch he is allowing to rule over him. Like him, a part of the spell. 

_Joy_. The scent Zelda wears for him lingers. One day, she will too, and not leave him alone in this place after sex but stay, the night, a day even.

Not that she is not returning. Indeed, soon, she said. We need to discuss this, she said. 

Is he ready for that? He has given her as much as she needed for her to understand a little, and help their eldest. But should he tell her all? Trust her? Trust her completely?

Faustus wonders whether Zelda herself has any qualms about unsettling the equilibrium that has been working so well for them over the past decade. The balance between what was said and what was left unsaid. Probably. But once she decides on something she will go ahead with it. It is one of her admirable traits. Faustus always thought that this was why she married him, all those years ago, despite everything, and did not try to kill him when she thought she had the chance, twice. When she found him, and once before.

That time in his office, her knife against Prudence's throat. He knew she would not kill her. It was crystal clear to him she would not kill a young witch. Always fiercely maternal, even before she had children of her own. But he was only half sure she would not try to kill him. And yet when she threw that knife it was not even close to where he was sitting. It could not even have been to protect baby Judith, who was sleeping in her little basket, carefully placed by him on the ground at a safe distance a few moments earlier. He wonders whether Zelda ever considered that it was not just hubris that kept him from using the babe as a shield for himself. But that there was a small part in him that thought he deserved that knife and, if that was the way it was going to end, so be it. A very small part because the Old Faustus still had the upper hand and was busily scheming his next steps. What an utter fool.

Now that he has understood that she conceived quite early in their relationship he can't help wondering. 

Maybe it has always only been about children and power, and never about him. Sure she has always loved the sex, and, he believes he has made sure that any sex she may have in the world out there cannot have been as good as theirs. Sure he has made sure to stimulate her intellectually as well as physically. But he cannot be certain that it has mattered that it is him who has been doing this.

Maybe he is the fool now.

As he turns to his other side, breathes in the dark notes of her perfume and closes his eyes, about to go down a path he thought he had left behind him, something heavy falls down from the bed, something Zelda placed on it before she left.

It is the bound volume of the _Acta Diurna_. All the bookmarks he is keeping in the volume have been dislodged and scattered on the floor. He picks them up, one by one, the photos, the bit of fabric and the piece of paper, on which Zelda practiced her married signature. _Zelda Blackwood-Spellman, Zelda Blackman, Zelda Spellman-Blackwood_. When she was 17 going on 18. Going on 180, really. He smiles.

There you go, Old Faustus, Faustus thinks. Proof. That it mattered it was him. He wasn't High Priest then, and was not even teaching any important subject, even though he had been chosen to mentor Edward. Just a teacher and lesser unholy priest. Yes, ready to grasp power where he could, but that wasn't something she could have known to come to fruition. It was this Zelda, the one who cared about him, whose actions led to them being bound together now, husband and wife, parents to daughters whose power he can still sense buzzing when he concentrates on the connection they all have. This Zelda, who he can still see in the witch he can bring to orgasm with the tip of one finger, the mother, who brings him a babe to be blessed, and the witch who waits for him on the other side of his _there_. 

So they will talk.

He will get up now, wash, shave, make himself presentable and ready for the day as if he was still in the business of running a church or a family or a school. She deserves his best, and so does he himself. And so do his descendants, born and unborn. He has a job to do, he thinks, as he takes the volume and places it on his desk, next to the embroidered fabric she made him put away. Power like this may be enhanced in many ways. Lived relations are one way, but so is this, and he will do his utmost to ensure that the Power of the Spellwoods stays strong and real, with thread and needle, one day at a time. 

Another piece of paper that must have slipped on the floor catches his attention, and he picks it up. It's a folded note she's left for him, and not one of her usual ones which she uses to pass on some information. Indeed, it is a letter, and as he peruses it and takes in what she is saying to him, his mood lifts. This time he will get it right.

***

_Faustus. A quick note before I go. It's the last day before school and the girls need their breakfast. I'll be back but maybe not as quickly as I would like to. We do need to talk. With words. But there's so much to do today, before school starts again. Thank you for everything, the way you helped with Toni, the secrets you shared and this morning's respite from my troubles. If it wouldn't inflate your ego so, I might let you know how sweet the melody was that you played when you let your body speak to me and that I shall miss you. As it is, I just say, I will see you soon. Take care. xxxZ_

_PS: Some housekeeping notes: I may just have time to bring by a basket later; if you use any of the stocks in the cellars make doubly sure you leave the place looking untouched. We're out of cellars that noone knows about after the last time. Don't take or touch any of the Pinot Noir; the Carswells sent these bottles before they left, and I am still not sure whether it was a genuine gift or does contain a hidden spell or poison. There was a time when I wouldn't have cared but it turns I do want to find you whole and hale when I come back. When we sit down and talk._

_PPS: So much to talk about and, yet, I fear, that I will find it difficult to cross those boundaries we set, after so much that has happened between us... I don't know why I am adding this; maybe to ask you to help set the tone, now that we have started on this road. Or maybe I am in need of chastisement. A gentle flagellation to remind me to stay humble and not assume I know best, and listen more. More when it is warranted anyway. You may guess why gentle, and no more smoking for a while. It feels wrong to feel so happy when your own first-born child is in such misery. I will do all I can, you know, to set her right again, although hell knows I may still be the wrong person to do it. We fight, and I can only hope that what she has been through has made her more amenable, or me less... whatever it is I need to be less of so as not to rouse her ire. (You and I used to fight like that for a while, and it is my sincere belief that it was the sex that saved us from each other but that is hardly a helpful thought, is it?) She needs to accept she is a witch and relearn what that entails, and how to show some self-control. Back to the basics, in other words._

_PPPS: How strangely wonderful it is that I can actually say to you, this is our child, this is going on with us. So strange after all these years but you will have to understand that without knowing what you shared with me, trusting you even a little in this respect was out of the question. Especially when you take all that happened in our first decade and a half into account, as you yourself have admitted. I am strangely hopeful. Strangely confident that, for once, we will get it right. Are you, too? I hope so, dear, and that it isn't just my hormones lying to me._

_PPPPS: Not such a quick note, after all. xxx Z_

***

Toni is woken up by a combination of noise, sunlight falling on the bed, and a not so gentle bang on the bedroom door. She opens her eyes, and watches her sisters troop into the room, all eleven of them, the youngest on their mother's arm. Selena is carrying a tray full of food, juice, tea, and a lonely snowdrop in a small vase. 

Toni stares at them. She can see that they are there but their presence is weirdly meaningless.

She should feel happy to see them, or angry to be woken, or beside herself with grief, for she is a widow, or full of hatred or remorse, for she is a killer, or full of despair, for she tried to kill herself and failed. But there is only nothing. She feels like a small animal, completely numb from being stunned before transport, wrapped tightly to stop her from moving should she wake up and stuffed in a box with the tiniest of slots for her to look out into an entirely alien world, while she cannot even feel the rest of her body. 

Her sisters come to her one by one, and all she can do and stare at them. They might as well be strangers she has never met before.

They troop out of the room again, and only her mother remains.

"Toni," she whispers. 

Toni looks at her but feels nothing. She thinks she used to hate that person. Or love her. Or both. She cannot remember which or what the difference was. Now she feels exactly nothing, and she has difficulties following what is being said.

She watches tears flow and then drip, drip, drip on her mother's silk blouse. She wonders why they have such an effect on a silk blouse so much when they do not leave any traces on the make-up they run over.

She realizes that something has been said that requires her to respond but she has no idea what. Maybe if she agrees, she will be left alone.

"I'm fine," she says. "Whatever you say."

It seems she has agreed to eat and drink something.

So she does. 

The food tastes strange, of ash and cardboard. The tea is hot but tasteless.

Her mother hands her a glass of some strange looking liquid. A strong smell of earth and home hits her as she swallows.

Then, suddenly, she has had enough.

Anger flashes up and is gone.

She knows she should feel something about the mess on the floor. She does not but she remembers the words. 

"I'm sorry."

Her mother nods, and, this time, her words make sense. "We'll get you back on your feet, sweetheart, one step at a time."

Toni is fairly sure she does not want to be back on her feet but that she will have no choice about it. She wishes she could ask why she must be, when others have been so easy to wipe off the surface of the earth but formulating more words is beyond her.

All she can do is turn her face away from her mother's and close her eyes.

Sleep does not come, and so she keeps staring at the underwear, jeans and tee someone brought and hung over the back of the chair for the rest of the day.

When the night comes, she is still staring in this directon, as she hears her mother's regular breathing from the other bed.

***

Julia lies awake in her bed, too.

She thinks about all she has read in the _Acta Diurna_ , and all the facts about _that monster Blackwood_ she has gathered over the years, in a desultory manner, in case she needed them some day.

She wishes her mother had been clearer to them what exactly happened to Toni before she came home, or that she had looked at the papers before Toni threw them into the fire. Whatever it was that set Toni off, it had to have something to do with _Blackwood_ being her father. Why else had her mother kept the papers and the book spell-locked together. Whatever it was, it had made Toni not want to live any longer. 

Before the evening was over, Julia's mother said that they could always talk to her about anything and it is tempting to simply ask her. But then she would have to admit to her mother that she was snooping in that book, and has been nosy about a honeymoon and a husband her mother so clearly never has wanted to talk about.

She doubts that Auntie Hilda knows anything about anything in this case.

Selena is at school. So are all her older sisters, except for Toni, of course.

Toni is not speaking to anyone. Julia would like to ask her but she knows that would be wrong. Toni must be left alone, and protected.

Sabrina has left.

She does not like Prudence that much.

How weird that Prudence is as much Toni's sister, as she is.

Or the newcomers.

Julia does not know what she will do next. Only that when she can think of what to do, nothing will stop her.

Julia knows one thing, though.

She knows she hates _that monster Blackwood_ and his horrid ancestors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, once more this took a while. If you're a continuing or new reader, I'd love to hear from you via comment.


	17. Sew, A Needle Pulling Thread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It feels like the days of February have been flying, and _Lupercalia_ is only a couple of nights away.
> 
> Sometimes, for somehing new to come about, something old has to come undone first. And from what is left of the old something new can be fashioned.
> 
> Julia, it turns out, is a powerful witch, despite not having had her Dark Baptism yet.

Sometimes, for somehing new to come about, something old has to come undone first. And from what is left of the old something new can be fashioned. 

Faustus has known this for a long time and acted upon it, but until very recently, took this to mean that he, who was either the Chosen One, or the one chosen to be the Chosen One's father, depending on how he read the unholy scriptures, needed to undo and rebuild something outside himself. The temple of his marriage, the temple of his Church, the person of the Unholy Father.

Only recently he has come to realize that it is he himself who needed to come undone and to be rebuilt.

 _The Spellwods Will Be the Blackwoods' Undoing._ When he was younger he took this prophecy as a threat, as had generations of Blackwood warlocks warned that way at some stage in their long lives. These days he knows it is a promise.

Sometimes Faustus wonders whether it is really only a decade ago that he came completely undone. 

It also worries him that, in a manner of speaking, this is the third time he has come undone, although never so utterly.

It is the third time, if he counts that time of utter madness that followed when he realized that he was less than nothing to the Dark Lord in whose service he had lived, suffered and rejoiced since serving in the _Templum Patris Ditis_ as a small orphan. Ever since his first vision of _the Beast_ , when he had blackened out with hunger, only to wake up in his grandfather's arms, he thought himself a chosen servant of the Lord of the Underworld, a conviction confirmed by his Dark Baptism. How sure he was of his Destiny then.

How wrong he was then.

He has looked back at that time of madness because he has made it a habit to contemplate his errors in judgment, a spiritual technique he picked up from his late friend, Cavendish, another Fool in the service of another Uncaring Deity. 

So he forces himself to look at who he was then and what he was doing with a colder eye than entirely comfortable, and to do this repeatedly to make sure he can learn from what his past errors. He sees so much dark burning anger channeled into action that seemed calculated but even then made no sense if everything he was doing and saying was put together. A deceived husband, abandoned by the spouse whose obstinate willfulness he thought he had safely contained, a Chosen One, abandoned by his God and Faith, a desparate father whose daughter had chosen others over the Sacred Bond of Blood. A _pater familias_ about to see the enemy's name raised over the Unholy Ancient Blackwood family once more by a dishonourably conceived abomination of a half-blood.

Faustus can still feel the ice-cold stream of hatred that took him to destroy what he had been rebuilding. If the church was not for him, then it should be for nobody.

Is it a redeeming factor that, among the hatred and the cold calculation, there was a sense of pity? None of his coven should suffer as he had suffered. None of those under his care should have to learn that their unholy prayers had been for nothing, that their deity had never been listening, that their leader's visions of and visitations by the Dark Lord had been nothing but Lies visited upon him by an uncaring deity. Does this pity make what he did better or worse? He still does not know.

Would it have made a difference to Prudence, the child he lost while sprouting nonsense clad in unholy church rhetoric so she might help with the babes? Who proved to be more of a witch than a Blackwood after all the promise she had shown, and acutually put others above the family name? The Old Faustus never would have understood that there might be more than blood and name to forge a connection, to forge power.

Faustus abhors that warlock he can still see scheming, how to get away, how to use what and who to raise the Blackwood name above the Dark Lord if must be. However he has also learnt not just to hate and despise that warlock, for his lack of understanding, for his utter egotism, for his sheer stupidity, but he has learnt to see the child in him, the boy awake in his cell, abandoned by all but still called by a powerful old name. 

Sometimes Faustus worries that what he is doing now is still the same thing he has been trying to do since he was a boy. 

Then he remembers Zelda. _Her_ spell. _Her_ daughters. _Her_ witching power. He is but a part and a tool in this. Part of the whole that is bigger than its parts.

There are days when Faustus feels the disapproval of a long line of warlock ancestors pulling him into the old ways. This is not one of them. On the contrary. The Blackwood sons have had their time, now let it be the daughters who create the new age. Their daughters. Zelda's and his.

No, he thinks, this time he and Zelda will get it right. 

Especially now they have begun talking to each other.

Reassured, he returns to his piece of fabric, another High Priest's robe that Zelda has found for him, and unravels and spools more of the golden thread. He looks forward to her return, because these days, while they talk, she can do some of the unravelling, while he continues with the embroidery.

***

It feels like the days of February have been flying, and _Lupercalia_ is only a couple of nights away.

Zelda is incredibly busy these days, but also, strangely, happier than she has been in centuries.

First, Toni is not talking more than a few words a day yet, but she is up more often and has been eating. She listens to her mother earnestly whenever Zelda is by her side. Maybe, Zelda thinks, as awful it is to love and lose a mortal, maybe this can be a lesson learnt, and Toni can relearn what it takes to be a witch. Maybe, as heartbreaking as events have been for the poor girl, this can be a new beginning for mother and daughter, too.

School and church run smoothly. A few teachers in need of some pointers, a few coven members in need of advice, but nothing out of the ordinary.

The _Sisters_ have sent her an official letter of commendation for the wonderful _Night of Imbolc_ at her house, and expressed their readiness to offer any of their homes for next year's.

The twins have started attending the Unholy Academy but aren't boarding yet. They like their mother's relatives and are liked by them, it seems. Prudence has been gone to her university, anyway, and neither of her eldest daughters has shown a great interest in being friends with them. Indeed, they do seem a bit isolated at school but it is early days yet. Selena, who is a good girl, is spending some time with them. Zelda will need to keep an eye on that but so far there is not even a hint of any attraction between any of the siblings, thank Lilith. The twins are taught basics in special classes, because Zelda feels it would be odd to have them join the juniors when they are so much older. It is only in choir practice, drama class and spellcrafting, which are mixed age classes anyway, that they get to join the rest. Ambrose has come in to teach them, and she has asked Sister Beaumont to do some extra hours. She herself is also teaching them some basic witchcraft lore and theology. The twins have assured her that they are happy with the way things are. So far so good.

The Farnhams have once more talked to her about fostering Agnes, a time honoured tradition of strengthening family bonds between witching families and no clear admission of paternity, but have taken her rejection calmly. The eldest sister Farnham has even expressed her approval of Mother Spellman's fierce maternal stance. Apart from the High Priestess's daughters belonging to her and all the coven, Agnes is simply too old. And there is no way, she will allow any of her daughters to be taken away from the circle of her sisters, or be allowed to seriously believe a warlock her father who isn't, whatever the politics of a given situation. Not after what happened with Toni.

Locasta has asked her this question, Lilith love her, and is over the moon knowing that she is free to enjoy any dalliance with young Axel Borcke. Zelda approves but has asked Hilda to remind Locasta of some of the contraceptive spells available. She has no wish to become a grandmother yet. But Locasta, like any young witch, should be free to sow her wild oats, to enjoy herself and her body, and to learn a thing or two on the way. She hopes her older daughters will take full advantage of the _Lupercalia_. So many wonderful memories to be had.

Not that there need to be memories only, even when you are centuries old. She herself has been told she is looking radiant by more than one warlock in recent days. Ah well, it's part and parcel of her position to be complimented but a look in the mirror tells her she _is_ looking radiant, indeed, _ravishingly beautiful, a flame each moth or fly / cannot but hope to be devoured by_ , as one poem left under her office door put it. Being pregnant always does wonders to her complexion and her body tone in the first two trimesters, as does having sex. The way she looks right now, she can have her pick when it comes to lusty warlocks this _Lupercalia_. It slightly amuses her that even her night son, who has shown no interest whatsoever in other warlocks and is proving to be a bit of an oaf when it comes to young witches, thank Lilith, has started making googly eyes at her.

Even though it always has improved her looks, being pregnant in her first two trimesters has not always been as easy for Zelda as it currently is. Much to be grateful for. Thank Lilith she does not get morning sickness this time. Thank Lilith there are no slight bleedings to worry her either. It _is_ true, it turns out, that witches' pregnancies do get lighter to bear the more children they have born. Toni was hard, for more than one reason. Selena, Irene, too, but with Locasta, both her pregnancies and the births became easier. These days she just feels carried by a wave of warm emotions she does not quite trust. She is a witch, for Lilith's sake, and not a mother goddess, although since the last birth some of the coven have begun to touch her for good luck, when she passes. If they knew who the father was, she doubts they would. Even though they cannot yet know that she is, indeed, expecting again, it seems to Zelda that this is catching on, and she must put a stop to it as gently but firmly as she can. Mother goddesses eventually tend to end up being eaten up by their followers if she remembers correctly, and she has no intention of returning to that barbaric way of thinking.

It is much too early to find out about the gender or even the health of her unborn, of course. But she feels all is well. When she is kicked, it is a strong kick. At all times, when she concentrates, there is a strong buzz inside her, that is not her own witching powers. There is, she thinks, also a kind of echo, an aftermath to each kick and each buzz, like a secondary minor earthquake following upon a major one, but time enough to worry about that in a few months. She has just begun her second trisemester after all, and searching for answers to such questions is best left to the fourth.

Thank Lilith, her girls who are still at home are thriving, too. The head girls who have volunteered to do some of their home teaching and baby sitting are a marvellous bunch, and a great help. Zelda is glad that Ambrose has agreed to continue to spend a few hours in his old home with them, too. He brings the youngest, Chloe, and she joins Anna, Claudina, and sometimes Julia in the mid level lessons. She herself enjoys teaching them at home more than any Academy lesson, especially the little ones. Julia, as the oldest witch to be home-schooled, does a lot of her studying on her own, and Zelda suspects that she is much more advanced than she lets on. Let her, she thinks, it's nice to know that at least one of her daughters has inherited the academic brilliance the Spellman family has been so proud of in its warlock sons. 

Indeed, Julia has begun to take over some of the teaching of her younger siblings and of Chloe, too, and is spending more time with them in general. And she has turned out to be a really good teacher. When Zelda thinks how much time she used to hide behind a comic book when she was not trying to solve the odd family mystery she had made up, she cannot help but feel proud that Julia is developing into such a fine young witch. Her sixteenth birthday will come sooner than they think because, really, what is in a year...

Hilda, too, comes for a visit or rings her up, at least twice every week, brings news of how Zelda's nieces are doing, and they have a nice chat. So much to be grateful here, too.

So all is well.

And there is Faustus.

She does not have much time for Faustus, but every night she visits him, as well as every day for exactly half an hour between breakfast at home and breakfast at school.

They pull apart and put together, undo and redo, both when it comes to strengthening the spell she crafted so many moons ago, and when it comes to the memories, stories, and truths they share with each other.

They talk.

They have begun at the beginning, as one should. 

How strange that they are getting to know each properly other only after so many years.

Faustus tells her what it was like to be an orphan acolyte child in that temple he first ended up in after his parents' violent death.

Zelda tells him about her own childhood.

Each night and each day they progress towards who they were and who they are becoming to each other over the centuries.

Each night and each day they have sex because this is who they are to each other now. Because s-e-x as much as everything else that they will surely talk about in nights and days to come is what glues them together as a couple.

Warlock and witch, one to the other until they are one and, once more, more than they are as individuals.

***

To her surprise Julia finds that spending more time with her sisters and with Chloe is enjoyable. She loves how the little ones pick up on what she teaches them quickly. She feels good about sharing what she knows (not all of it, obviously). She does not even mind sitting by Toni's side even though her sister is still not talking to her except for please and thank you when it comes to passing some food or condiment item. She even has discovered that she quite likes Chloe, who she thought of as somewhat of a nuisance previously. Chloe, too, likes knowing things. Chloe could become an ally.

It does, however, slightly irk her, that, despite all Julia's best efforts at camaraderie, Chloe simply does not divulge anything about her mother's parentage.

If only some of Aunt Hilda's truth cake was available so she could find out whether Chloe really does not know anything or whether, as she herself would be if she was in her place, she is simply being obstinate.

If only she had more material about _Blackwood_. Or something that was definitely his.

She should have kept that photo from the _Acta Diurna_. Surely her mother would have thought it lost rather than thought of her. But she hadn't thought that far. Indeed, she remembers feeling slight pity for that babe born to a murderous father and a whoring mother but that was before she knew the effect of _Blackwood_ on Toni. She will never ever forgive him for sending her off into whatever despair made her try to kill herself. Ever.

As it is, what she knows and what she has is too generic. If she proceeds with her plan on so little knowledge she might easily hurt another Blackwood rather than the _Evil Father_. Lilith forbid she might hurt Toni, for whose suffering she has sworn to herself to take revenge, if she can only find out how to.

True, the old church fabric she stole when she was smaller because she was fascinated by the cats in the embroidery that also shows devils with giant male parts dancing in front of a fire from which a giant goat is emerging (unless it is being cooked, or burnt alive) was in all likelihood never worn by her mother but she cannot be sure.

Even if it was, the ragdoll she has sewn from it (without using the part with the two cats, which she has cut out) can be used to represent _the monster_ because of the clearly male devils on it but only if she stitches on enough other material to make this representation uniquely his. Something that used to be his would be ideal but small texts that are about him and him only will do, as long as they are sown into the fabric of the doll. Or added to its stuffing.

Alas, this will take time.

Julia winces, as the needle pulling the thread with which she sows on a bit of gold chord to represent the rope Blackwood's father used to hang himself and the pain Toni was caused when she tried to kill herself, jumps and pierces her thumb. A drop of her own blood splashes onto the warlock figure and soaks into the fabric. 

Blast Lilith, she will have to undo this again, and remove every trace of her own blood, indeed, cut out everything soaked by her blood, or she will be harming herself, too, when she pushes a knife into the dolls's heart.

More patiently than she thought she would be able to, Julia cautiously undoes what she has sown so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! If you have any memory of the CAOS story you would be interested in reading Zelda and Faustus talk about let me know in the comments. At this stage I can still incorporate what you would like to read about in the chapters surrounding the Lupercalia.


End file.
